Birds of a Feather
by KlarolineBunny32
Summary: "Stop! Let me go, Crane!" she screeched, causing Scarecrow to twist her arm behind her back tighter. "I'm not Crane," he said coldly. With one arm he held her, while he withdrew his key chain from his waistcoat pocket with the other. Dangling a large, iron key in front of her, he jeered, "Scared yet?" Eventual Crane/OC Please Review!
1. Chapter 1

"Stay there, you," ordered the prison guard before slamming the metal door shut.

_As if I'm going anywhere, _Elena thought, rubbing her handcuffed wrists as she did. They had refused to take off her cuffs- she was apparently too much of a danger. This thought amused her, and a ghost of a smile appeared on her face. Elena Moretti- dangerous. Before she went to jail everyone had thought of her as helpless; 5'3", beach blonde hair and a skinny frame made her a potential target of nearly every sicko in Gotham. It wasn't until they saw the sign on her wrist that they backed off. A falcon was more useful than any self-defense class.

She had been allowed to wear her own clothes in jail- they had run out of prison jumpsuits, and she was only going to be there for a short while anyways, seeing as her trial was tomorrow. She smoothed her slightly wrinkled white blouse, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

They had given her the trick chair- the one that never let you sit comfortably because one of its legs was just a bit shorter than the rest. It wasn't like they were going to interrogate her again, because she had immediately confessed, so she was left to wonder why they had brought her here.

_Maybe it's him, _she thought. The thought of the Monster killing her didn't scare her, but the thought of what he might to do her while she was still alive did. And what he might do to… no, she couldn't bear to even think about that. Elena suppressed a shiver.

Even though she was facing a one way mirror, she could sense that someone was staring at her through it, trying to gauge her emotions, pinpoint her weakness, but her face was a mask. Living with the Monster had made her a master of her emotions, and an expert at reading others' as well. She still lived in fear of him, but he didn't have to know that.

She blew a kiss at her reflection in the one way mirror. She would act unconcerned- that would really throw the Monster off. After a moment, the door swung open, but the man that walked in was not the Monster. He was surprisingly short, but still an inch or two taller than her, and wore a well-fitting black suit, red tie, and clear, rimless glasses. And his hair was a dark brown and slightly greasy, as though he had run his hands through it too many times.

"Good morning Miss Moretti, my name is Dr. Jonathan Crane." He sat down in the chair across from her, and set a black briefcase down beside his chair.

She'd have to keep an eye that.

"So he sent me a doctor," Elena said, leaning back in her chair. To anyone else, she would have seemed uninterested, but Crane could see her stormy grey eyes narrow in mistrust.

"But not just any doctor," she continued. "A _psychiatrist_." She should have seen it before- everything about him screamed 'shrink!'

"Very good, Miss Moretti," he mocked. "Now that we have stated the obvious, perhaps we can get started."

His hostility surprised her, and she resisted the urge to reply, _Got anything up your ass, doctor? _He reached beneath the table and brought up his black briefcase. She tensed when at the 'click' the case made when it opened, and held her breath. But all he took out were a stack of notecards. "Now, could you tell me what you see when you look at this?" He held up a shapeless inkblot. "Please answer honestly."

"I don't think so," she replied.

"Miss Moretti, this is a court ordered psychological evaluation. Unfortunately, you do not have a say in the matter," he said, annoyance clear in his voice. She reminded him of Sherry Squires. Both were blonde, uncommonly pretty, and thought the world revolved around them.

For a few seconds she looked at the notecard, and then finally said, "Is that what this is, then?"

"I don't know, Miss Moretti," he answered in a bored voice. "What is this?"

She glared at him. "Falcone wants me declared insane," she spat. "Why?"

"So you believe Carmine Falcone is out to get you?" he asked, disinterestedly scribbling a few notes down on a pad of paper. This 'favor' for Falcone was costing him precious time. He still had so much to do, and this girl was the least of his concerns. His fingers itched to release his toxin and have this whole matter resolved quickly, but Falcone had wanted her mind intact. Crane supposed he had different sorts of tortures prepared for the girl.

"Don't play dumb, doctor, it doesn't suit you."

"I am part of this conspiracy as well?"

"God, you really are full of it. How much is he paying you? Ten grand… or more? I think I'm worth at least twenty."

"Miss Moretti, I can honestly say," he answered as he finished writing the last of his notes, "That Carmine Falcone isn't paying me a cent." For the first time during the interview, his clear blue eyes met hers, and she was lost for words. Elena could tell that he was telling the truth, but not all of it.

He stood up and snapped his briefcase shut. He'd wasted five minutes with the girl. That should be more than enough to convince the judge of her mental incompetence. She still sat there in her chair, brooding, and as he walked out of the interview room he heard her mutter, "Bloody cheapskate." His lips curled in a small smile. Clever. Perhaps she was not like Sherry after all.


	2. Chapter 2

"All rise for the honorable Judge Martin," called the police officer.

Elena rose gingerly to her feet, along with the Prosecutor. Besides the two of them, the courtroom was empty. She had expected the Monster to at least show up at her trial, but he was nowhere to be found. His absence was starting to put her on edge more than his presence did.

"Alright, it's ah… Miss Moretti is it?" the Judge asked, squinting down at her through cloudy eyes. He was an old, squat man who had thin white hair on his head and coming out his ears. Perfect, just perfect.

"Yes, your Honor," she answered in the sweetest voice she could muster.

"Where- where is your attorney? I got the time correct, didn't I?" His gaze traveled around the room, searching for a clock.

"I'll be representing myself, your Honor."

"Objection, your Honor," shouted the Prosecutor. He was much taller than her, and wore a dark navy suit- probably name brand- and had brown hair greased back on his head. "The defendant is not mentally competent to serve as her own attorney."

"All defendants have the right to defend themselves, and I believe my mental competence or incompetence has yet to be determined," she challenged. _Where is Mr. Finch? _she wondered as she spoke. He had promised to help her, yet here was some slimy yuppie trying to throw her into a mental institution, clearly paid for by Falcone.

"True, very true. I believe, Mr. Rodríguez, I'll have to side with the Defense on this one. You understand what you're getting yourself into, young lady?"

"Yes your Honor," she replied, flashing a bright smile. Rodríguez muttered under his breath in the background.

"How do you plead, then?"

"Guilty, your Honor."

"So you admit to killing the deceased, now what was his name again? A Mr…"

"Jacobs. And yes, I killed him and was perfectly aware of what I was doing when I killed him." And she did the world a favor too.

"Well, uh, Mr. Rodríguez, what are you charging her with?"

"Nothing, your Honor. We believe Miss Moretti was suffering a psychotic break at the time of the murder and should be sent to Arkham for rehabilitation."

"And you have one of those… whatchamacallits to support this?"

"Yes, Doctor Crane is a psychiatrist at Arkham and evaluated Miss Moretti yesterday."

"Well, bring him up."

A familiar face walked past her and got up on the witness stand, wearing the same suit she had seen him in the day before. _Jesus, when did he get here? _she wondered. As the officer was swearing him in, she could have sworn she saw a smirk on his pale face. Slimeball.

"Now, Dr. Crane, you met with the defendant yesterday, did you not?" Elena finally sat down, grimacing slightly as she did. The bruises from her last encounter with Falcone still had not improved.

"Yes, that is correct." It seemed like he was looking right at her as he spoke and she stared back defiantly. Creep.

"And what, in your expert opinion, is the state of Miss Moretti's mental health at this time?"

_Oh, 'expert opinion' is it? Be careful, Mr. Rodríguez_, she thought, _inflate that guy's ego anymore and his head might explode. _God, that would be really convenient, if his head just up and exploded right now. She began to focus all of her energy into making that happen.

"Miss Moretti is suffering from schizophrenia, whose symptoms commonly occur during young adulthood. In the time I spent with her it became very clear to me that she suffered from this disease, along with an acute persecution complex." Persecution complex, really?

"And what, do you believe, is best for the defendant at this time?"

"In my opinion, Miss Moretti is as much a danger to herself as to others, and prison is probably not the best environment for her rehabilitation."

She wanted to slap that arrogant look of his right off his face.

"The prosecution rests, your Honor."

"Well then Dr. …err…. Crane, you're free to go," said the Judge.

"Excuse me, your Honor, I have a few questions for the witness," she said, quickly rising to her feet.

"Oh, al-alright then, but make it quick, now."

"Yes your Honor." She took a few moments shuffling her papers dramatically and organizing her thoughts. _You're not going to win, but you can at least try_, she told herself. She took one deep, cleansing breath and her face became a mask.

"Mr. Crane - "

"It's Doctor, actually."

"Alright, _Doctor_," she said, slightly annoyed. "You majored in Psychology at Gotham University, is that correct?"

"It would appear so," he replied, "Seeing as I am a psychiatrist."

Smartass.

"I'm sorry, is that a yes?"

"Correct, Miss Moretti."

"But you weren't just a student, were you? You became a professor at the age of twenty-four."

"Correct again."

"That's very impressive. How did you manage that?"

"I'm good at what I do."

"So why were you dismissed from your position?" His eyes flashed, and a thinly concealed look of contempt appeared on his face. _Gotchya_ Elena thought delightedly.

"Objection your Honor," cried the prosecutor. "Relevance?"

"Goes to the credibility of the witness, your Honor," she replied.

"Oh well… I guess… hmmm…"

"I'll answer your question," said Crane, and seemed to spit venom as he spoke. "I was dismissed due to the narrow minded nature of the University in question –"

"But on the report," she interrupted, "It says that a student was _injured_ during one of your _unauthorized_ experiments."

"They had been planning to remove me for a long time, and that was just a convenient excuse for them to use to get rid of me." Bitterness was etched into every word he spoke.

"And who is "they" Jonathan? The administration? The government? CIA?" He could tell that she was mocking him, though no one else in the room seemed to be able to.

"The board of administration, yes," he said, with as much contempt as he could.

"Talk about persecution complexes," she remarked, just loud enough for him and the prosecutor to hear.

"Your Honor, objection!"

"Yes, is there a point to this line of questioning, little lady?" the Judge asked, clearly not comprehending what was going on.

"Yes, your Honor. The defendant has clearly shown a complete disregard to his profession, and it's a wonder that he still even has his license," she answered, gesturing to Crane as she spoke.

"The defendant is testifying, your Honor." A note of panic was in the prosecutor's voice now.

"Yes, well that would be a hell of a cross examination," she remarked to no one in particular.

"Your honor!"

"That's it. Mr. Crane, you may go now. I'll give my verdict tomorrow. Now get, all of you. I need to go to the bathroom," the old man grumbled unhappily.

"C'mon you," said the officer gruffly, slapping handcuffs on her once more and pulling her out of the courtroom. As she limped out, she turned and shot one last glance at Crane. He was still staring at her, with those blue, piercing eyes. _Congrats Elena_, she thought to herself, _You just pissed off the guy that runs the mental asylum you'll be going to_.


	3. Chapter 3

***Heads up guys, I changed the rating because this chapter has some (mild) violence in it. I wasn't sure whether it was a T or M, so I thought it's better to overestimate. Please review!***

Elena was stuck back in her bleak, grey cell. It was very small, with only one bunk bed, but she had it all to herself that night. Her cellmate had escaped the night before- thank god. She was a jewelry thief and in deep with some pretty nasty people. The entire three days she had spent with her she had only heard the girl speak once: when she told Elena to take the bottom bunk.

She was sleeping on the top bunk tonight.

Kicking off her Tory Burch flats, she climbed up onto the bed and pulled her blonde hair out of its ponytail. When it wasn't tied up, her hair fell in soft waves a few inches below her shoulders. Staring in the shattered mirror on the wall, she attempted to clean herself up. Her mascara had smeared beneath her eyes, and her hair looked like it was preparing for spring, it was in such a bird's nest. She yawned and washed her face in the sink before carefully retrieving her shank from under her mattress. Her cell block was pretty much unsupervised, so the day she arrived she broke her mirror and took the sharpest piece for herself. She had torn some cloth from her bed sheets and wrapped it around the bottom for a handle, and now felt marginally safer.

Elena was used to sleeping with a knife in her hand, but the shiv would have to do for now. Lying in bed, waiting for sleep, she couldn't help but worry. The DA Carl Finch had promised her he'd help her disappear if she gave him enough information to lock Falcone away, but he wasn't exactly reliable. Out of all the charges (manslaughter, armed robbery, and possession with the intent to distribute) last year they only got him on drug charges. But that was enough to give Elena the time she needed, anyways. Finch had told her once she was in the system, he had contacts that would help her fake her death and get them of Gotham. Falcone would never stop looking for her unless she was dead. _Nearly there, Elena_ she told herself firmly, pushing all of the doubts from her mind.

She eventually fell asleep, but didn't remain that way for long.

"Wake up, dove," a low voice whispered.

_You're dreaming, you're only dreaming. _But the voice was so real, and she was paralyzed with fear. _Please be a dream, please be a dream._

"C'mon girl, I know you're awake!" he shouted, and strong, burly arms yanked her from her bed and hurled her on the cell floor. She landed on her stomach and hit her forehead on the hard concrete. Dazed, and her head spinning, she saw a ghastly face come into view. His once black hair now had streaks of grey in it, and his nose recently broken, but it was him.

"Falcone," she muttered, as blood began to trickle down her temple, and she pushed herself up to a sitting position.

"You didn't think I had forgotten about you, did ya darling?" he mocked. He was kneeling in front of her and his face was now so close to hers that she could smell his awful cologne that smelled vaguely of cinnamon.

"What do you want from me?"

"I want back the year of my life tha' I spent in jail, but we both know that's not possible." He reached his hand out, and Elena forced herself not to flinch away as he lightly stroked her cheek. "I was so disappointed, you know, when I found out you were the one that snitched on me… If it had been anyone else, they woulda been dead by now."

"Then kill me already."

"Kill you? Do you really think I'm that unimaginative? No, I won't kill you. But when I'm done with you" he whispered in her ear softly, while stroking her hair, "You'll wish you were."

Elena was staring out the cell door as he spoke, and saw two of his henchman and another man, probably a prison guard, standing watch outside. No one would help her. To her right a sliver of light caught her eye. At the base of the bunk beds was her homemade knife- she must have dropped it during her fall.

"And you look so much like your mother…" he sighed. She suddenly wrenched herself free from him and dove for the shiv. But as she turned to stab him, but his bodyguards were on her in half a second.

His laugh filled the cell and echoed eerily off the stone walls. "You didn't really think that would work now, did you? Like your plan with that DA to uh, fake your own death and escape me?"

_He knows. How does he know?_

"You can't hide anything from me Elena, I thought you would have learned by now." He said, guessing what she was thinking. He stalked over to her, now holding her makeshift knife. With her arms pinned behind her back, she felt utterly powerless. "I guess you got your mother's looks but your father's spirit. That's why you always insist on making things so difficult. Like defending yourself during your trial. Now, it would have been just as easy for me to drive over to that old Judge's house and threaten him into declaring you mentally insane. But this is going to be so much more entertaining."

His bodyguard yanked her arms out in front of her while the other held her still. "You never learn, do you?" he asked, holding her chin, almost gently, in his hand. He waited for her to respond, perhaps apologize and beg him to forgive her, but she refused to give him that. A stormy silence filled the room: Falcone was not pleased.

"This is going to hurt, dove. Feel free to scream." And he slowly began to slit her wrists, right through the arterial vein, all the while grinning sadistically. She gasped, but then bit her lip to keep herself from crying out again. The edge of the mirror was jagged and he cut so hard she thought he was trying to cut off her hands. Pain overwhelmed her, and she was dimly aware that her blood was gushing all over the floor in time with her pulse.

"The Judge won't have any choice now but send you to Arkham. I mean, you just tried to kill yourself after all." She saw his face contort again into a twisted smile.

"Why do you even want me to go there?" she asked numbly.

"Then I can see you whenever I want," he answered simply, a sinister smile still plastered on his face. He had the head of the mental asylum in his pocket, being the only one who could smuggle the drugs the doctor needed in. And ever since serving his time, he had hated jails. .

"Make sure she doesn't die, Crane. I'm not done with her yet," he said to the figure outside the door. "I'd spend more time with you dove, but I got to fly."

Her head was pounding, but even in her dazed state she knew she had to keep her arms up until she could find some way to stop the bleeding. But her arms felt like lead, and she was hit by the overwhelming desire to sleep. _Stay awake, Elena, stay awake._

The third figure that had been standing outside her cell was approaching her now. God, she was tired. He knelt next to her on the hard concrete and the last thing she saw before she passed out was his clear, blue eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

Elena woke up in what she thought must have been the most depressing hospital on earth. The room she was in was dimly lit, and shared by many other empty beds (never a good sign). The once white walls were now a dirty yellow color, and with many cracks along the walls and ceiling. And the windows did nothing to improve the ambiance, seeing as they gave patients a clear view of The Narrows. A steady beeping to her right alerted her to the fact that she was hooked up to a heart rate monitor. It was only then that she noticed the dull pain in her wrists, and saw the white bandages that had stopped the bleeding. She noticed that there was no one in the room with her, and began to survey the area. However, there were no needles, syringes, scalpels, tongue depressors, or any sort of weapon near her. Someone had been very careful.

But then Elena heard the click of the door as it opened and the doctor's voice.

"- about twenty milligrams of risperidone should do it," he was saying to a nurse.

She quickly shut her eyes and feigned sleep. The last thing she wanted right now was to deal with him too. She heard the door click shut again, and footsteps approach her bed.

"Miss Moretti, I know you're awake. Both your heart rate and BP clearly indicate you are conscious" he stated, in the most conceited manner possible.

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and saw him staring down at her through his rimless glasses. "Are you this charming with all your patients, or am I just lucky?" she asked sarcastically as she sat up in her bed.

"You are lucky, Miss Moretti. If you had cut your wrists the correct way, you would be dead at this very moment."

"I don't think luck had much to do with it, to be honest."

But it didn't seem like he was listening anymore. Dr. Crane was scribbling away on his clipboard, and a strand of hair had fallen in front of his eyes but he was too busy to push it back into place. His face was frozen in serious concentration, and Elena decided then that he had nice cheekbones. It was a shame such attractive features were wasted on such a cold man.

Continuing to write, without looking at her he said, "You have been placed under my care by Judge Martin after he heard of your attempted suicide, until such time that I find you are no longer a danger to yourself or others. You will reside in Ward C and meet with me every week so that I may monitor your progress- or lack thereof."

"Ward C? Why wasn't I put in Ward A?"

"Because that is where all of our most dangerous and volatile patients stay, Miss Moretti," he replied patronizingly.

"But don't you consider me dangerous?" she asked, feeling slightly snubbed she was being grouped with all of the other common mental patients.

"Not particularly, no."

She smiled. "Well then you can release me then."

"I said not particularly, not completely harmless."

He looked up from his notes and she once again saw his clear blue eyes, and was very aware of his gaze as he examined her. "How do your hands feel? Any tingling sensations or numbness?" It almost sounded like he was concerned.

She rolled her eyes.

"I'll take that as a no, then."

He turned to leave, but the question that had been on Elena's mind since she had woken slipped out of her mouth. "So when do they start?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific."

"The experiments."

Silence. Then after a minute…

"What have you heard?"

She now chose her words carefully. "That you're about as dangerous as I am."

She saw something in his eyes flicker, for the briefest moment, and suddenly his entire demeanor changed. He stopped standing so straight and removed his glasses, and an eerie half smile appeared on his face. "Much more so, Elena." He turned again and sauntered towards the hospital, and just before he left, he turned around again and whispered, "See you on Friday."

Once the door closer, she allowed herself to shiver. Dr. Crane was stranger than she had thought- during the last part of her interview it felt as if he had turned into a whole other person. She really needed to escape from Arkham, and quickly.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you to perra95, jedidah, takara410, Meg, Maggie Wilde, Azura Soul Reaver, Megushie (same person as Meg?), and adverturesstime for reviewing, and everyone else that is reading! You are all amazing! I love hearing what people think of it! Hopefully this chapter is long enough :P**

"Here" said the attendant, throwing a bundle of clothing at her. She caught it in the air and unrolled it, revealing a dull gray cotton dress accompanied by dirty white sneakers. "Change, and be quick about it," the man ordered before leaving the room.

Elena stood up and reluctantly unbuttoned her white blouse before taking it off. She then kicked off her flats and pulled off her black skirt. Standing there, barefoot, on the cold linoleum floor in her lace underwear she put on her dress as quickly as possible, trying to avoid looking at her body as she did. Once she had it on, she discovered her dress had quarter length sleeves and was perfectly plain, except for the number "317" sewn at the top near her shoulder. It was a button down from the collar to the waist, and tapered out below her midsection, ending just above her knees. Now that she was dressed, Elena allowed herself to look in the mirror and decided that her mental hospital uniform wasn't as bad as it could have been. At least she didn't have to wear those hospital gowns that didn't cover _anything_.

Sharp knocking on the wooden door interrupted her thoughts. "Number 317, let's move!"

Quickly slipping on her hand-me-down tennis shoes, she twirled in front of the mirror and took one last look at herself before she left. The grey dress brought out her eyes, which were smudged with mascara, and her straight blonde hair was slightly tousled from lying down for so long. _Brilliant, _she thought gloomily.

Walking out the door, the same orderly roughly grabbed her arm and marched her quickly down the hallway. It smelled strongly of bleach and the dim flickering lights were beginning to give her a slight headache. They reached the end of the hallway and the man swiped his ID card at a slot on the wall. There was a loud buzzing sound and the metal doors automatically swung open. She tried to get a better look at his badge, but only had enough time to catch his name- Bradley- before he clipped it back to his shirt pocket and forced her to continue their speed walk down the hall. They took a left, but were forced to stand to the side as three other orderlies wearing the same white uniform as Bradley's dragged a screaming man past them.

Their patient was of medium build and height, but was putting up quite a struggle. He had wild red hair and a pair of green eyes, which met hers as he was escorted past. At the sight of her, however, he calmed down and reached out to grab her arm as he walked by. It was as if he recognized her, but Elena was sure that she had never seen him before in her life.

"Who in the world am I?" he asked.

However, she was spared from having to speak when he answered his own question.

"Ah, that's the great puzzle." The orderlies then yanked him off of her and continued to escort him down the hallway, but now he no longer put up any resistance. "Until next time, Alice," he called, laughing. Even though she was walking in the opposite direction, his voice seemed to follow her, resonating off the walls. Hopefully whatever he had wasn't contagious.

After a few minutes they arrived at her cell. The guard roughly shoved her inside and slammed the metal barred door shut without saying another word. Perhaps he thought words shouldn't be wasted on a mentally unstable person such as herself. Rolling her eyes, Elena turned around to evaluated her new living space. Thankfully the room only had one bed, but besides that the asylum bore a disturbing resemblance to prison. There was a toilet, sink, and cheap metal framed bed with dark grey sheets and a thin cotton blanket. The walls were grey, the floor was grey, and even the water from the tap looked slightly grey. Arkham really needed to fire their interior decorator. But they did get one thing right- there was no mirror in her cell for her to break and use as a weapon.

Curious, she walked back to her cell door and peered through the bars. Identical cells were on her left and right, and across from her all along the first floor. Looking up, she saw a white security camera posted on the upper corner of the wall, above a sign that said "Ward C." From what she had heard and seen on television, she thought mental hospitals were supposed to be loud and chaotic, but no one in her ward made a sound. Movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she saw a woman with dull, limp red hair staring at her from a cell across the hallway. She had pretty green eyes and pale skin which was marred with (what she hoped was) smudges of dirt. After surveying her with appraising eyes, the woman retreated into the back of her cell, hidden from view.

Elena collapsed on her bed but she wasn't the least bit tired. She'd only just woken up and was bursting with energy, and now her mind was racing, trying the figure out the best way to escape. With all the security procedures and personnel though, she would probably have to wait at least a month or two before she even knew the place well enough to break out. Frustration overwhelmed her- she needed to be out _now_.

It should have been no surprise to her that the justice system failed her, but she had been stupid enough to believe that Carl Finch would keep his word and help her if she gave him the information he needed. He had seemed so sincere, but not sincere enough for her to trust him with the real reason she needed Falcone out of the picture. Other faces flashed through her memory- Jacobs, the judge, corrupt police officers, false friends- all of them she despised. And the expert witness himself, Doctor Crane, now how could she forget about him? Not only did he work for Falcone (she was sure of this fact now), but he was the most arrogant jerk she'd ever met. It was almost like he thought he ran the city. His attractiveness only served to irritate her more.

A loud buzzer noise interrupted her thoughts, followed by a loud clang as all the cell doors opened simultaneously. She cautiously peered outside, and saw about thirty other patients wandering out of their cells and forming a line. Hesitantly, she stepped outside and slid into line behind the red haired woman she had seen earlier.

"Move it, inbreeds!" shouted a particularly horrible orderly.

They began to shuffle forward, and Elena could hear the woman behind her muttering something that sounded like, "Scarecrow, scarecrow.."

They turned right and a guard swiped his id card, so they were buzzed through a set of plain metal doors into the Pharmacy. She was towards the front of the line, and was one of the first in front of the office to receive her meds.

"Name?" the man asked.

"Elena Moretti."

The man stopped shuffling papers for a moment and looked up at her, and smiled. It was seemingly friendly, but the warmth in his face did not extend to his eyes, which remained dark and cold.

"You're new, correct? I would have remembered a face like yours."

She'd heard worse, so she flashed a smile at him.

"Yes, I am."

"Moretti, here you are," he said, checking her name off of a list. He handed her a paper cup with two round white pills inside. She dumped the contents of the cup into her mouth and cheeked the pills. Turning to the compliance monitor, she opened her mouth and lifted her tongue, copying what she had seen other patients do. He shined a flashlight in her mouth, and after half a second cleared her as good. She then walked through the door on the left and faked a yawn, so she was able to spit the hidden pills out. There was no way she was swallowing whatever drugs they were trying to put her on.

Another ward already seemed to be seated in the cafeteria, and the babble was much louder. She headed over to the food line, figuring it was dinner since an overhead clock told her it was 6:02 pm.

"Well hi ya girlfriend!" drawled a pigtailed, blonde girl in front of her. Her hair was a much lighter shade of blonde than Elena's, and she was wearing the same grey uniform dress, but had unbuttoned it very low. "M' name's Harley, and you're new here ain't you?"

"How'd you know?" Elena asked.

"Well, everybody knows everybody here. We eat with the B's usually, and the A's on weekends. Mah boyfriend, Mistah J, is in A." She assumed A meant Ward A, where all the high security level patients stayed. Charming.

"Nice to meet you," Elena said, smiling.

"Me an' mah friend Ivy, we used to be in A, but then they made 'em all gender separated. Now I can only see mah Pudding on weekends, ain't that sad? I know he misses me."

"Quinzel!" barked an elderly lunch matron.

"Yea, yea Miz B," huffed Harley, who turned around and grabbed her lunch tray. "See ya," she called.

"And who are you?" asked the lunch lady aggressively.

"Elena Moretti," she replied.

"You ain't on the list," the woman said.

"Oh, I'm new here," she explained.

"But you ain't on the list," the woman replied stubbornly. Elena's dinner tray remained empty.

"I'm sure it's just a paperwork mistake."

"I ain't giving you no food if you ain't on the list."

"Is there a problem, Darla?" asked the same dark eyed, dark haired man that had given Elena her meds, walking over.

The old woman, annoyed, gestured to her precious list.

"Oh, I know what's going on," the man said, grinning. "Follow me, Miss Moretti." Elena followed him, still holding her empty dinner tray, through yet another set of doors to a deserted hallway. Once the doors had closed completely, the man turned and stared at her. She could feel his eyes moving up and down along her body, and she knew nothing good was about to happen.

"We haven't been properly introduced," he said. "My name is Jared, but everyone around here calls me Red. Do you know why that is, Elena?"

She hated the slimy way he said her name, but forced herself not to talk back. She shook her head silently.

"Good. Only girls who disobey me know." He stepped towards her menacingly, and she fixed her eyes on the wall ahead to avoid meeting his gaze. "Now, about your meals. A mutual friend of ours has decided that you are to have none. But I'm sure given the right… persuasion he could be made to change his mind," Red said while placing a hand on her waist.

"Hmm, let me think about that," she answered, while using her tray as a shield to push him away. Tilting her head, she responded, "You can go tell Crane to take my tray for all I care and shove it-"

"Oh, but it wasn't Crane," replied Red, ominously.

_Falcone, goddammit, _she thought, mentally kicking herself. Only Falcone could have found such a sleazy guy to harass her.

Red grabbed her still injured wrist and gripped it tightly as he leaned towards her, but she kicked him squarely in the knee. He toppled over, with a look of pure rage on his face.

"Is there a problem here, Mr. Williams?" asked a familiar voice.

_Oh shit._

Elena looked up and saw a smartly dressed Dr. Crane striding down the hallway towards them, his perceptive blue eyes fixed on her.

"Nah boss, just tripped, that's all," lied Red.

"Is that true, Miss Moretti? Did Mr. Williams just," he smirked, "trip?"

"Yeah boss, ain't he klutzy as hell? Perhaps you should let him go."

Fury was written all over Red's face.

She was dead. Very dead.

"Get back to work Williams," ordered Crane, and after shooting her one last glare, Red got up and limped back into the cafeteria. Crane had been running the asylum long enough to know that when Williams was alone with a female patient, he was up to no good. And it was no surprise Williams had jumped at the first opportunity he had to be alone with Moretti, seeing as she was one of the more attractive inmates.

"First day and we're already in trouble, Miss Moretti?"

"Who said I was in trouble?" she said quizzically, tilting her head in mock confusion.

Again he smirked at her, as if he were clued into some joke that she didn't know. "Here," he said, handing her the tray she had dropped on the floor in the confusion. An all knowing half smile appeared on his face.

Oh god, he had heard her comment about him and the tray.

_Intelligent as ever, Elena._

"Thanks," she said, without the slightest hint of being embarrassed, and walked back into the cafeteria. She shot a furtive glance at the meal line, but Red was already standing there to prevent her from eating anything.

Her stomach cramped unhappily upon realizing there was no dinner for her today. A calendar on the wall told her it was Monday. Figures.


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry if it's been a bit while since I updated! I hit a bit of a writer's block :( Hopefully you guys are still interested in reading? I will try to update at the very least every week, but I think that now I've got most of the background info down it will be a lot easier to write and updates will be more frequent! **

Four days.

96 hours.

5760 minutes.

345600 seconds.

That was how long she had gone without eating. Sure, she hadn't had the greatest home life, and had gone for long periods of time without eating before, but never _this_ long. Red had refused to even let her out of her cell, except for the nightly shower with the other inmates

"Have you given up, Kitten?" he asked every night, and every night she spat in his face.

To dull her hunger pains, she had taken to drinking as much water as she could out of the faucet in her room. She was sure the grey water wasn't sanitary, but by the second day she was much too hungry to care. For three seconds- three heavenly seconds, after she finished drinking she felt immensely full. But then the hunger returned, and it felt as if her stomach was eating her from the inside out.

Gandhi was 74 when he fasted for three weeks. She wondered if he had felt as horrible as she did after four days.

On Friday she was feeling very light headed and faint. She kept imagining she heard the voice of a baby crying down the hallway. The rational part of her brain told her she was just hallucinating, but still she felt the desperate need to comfort her. Yes, she was _sure_ the baby was a girl. _How do I know that?_ she wondered. A voice in her head whispered the answer, but she brushed it away. The answer was too painful to think about.

"317!" A rough, masculine voice drowned out the infant's calls.

_No_, she though urgently. _I need to find her._

But then she was being shaken awake by the guard. "I said _move_ girl!"

She sat up from her bed and stood up on unsteady legs. All the blood rushed from her head and for a second her vision turned black, but she managed to steady herself on the bed post.

"Let me escort her, Bradley," said a man in a sly, persuasive voice.

The orderly grunted in agreement, and a calloused hand grabbed her bare arm and pulled her out of her cell and through the ward. Harley looked out of her cell in concern, and Ivy in indifference. But Elena didn't notice either of them. They walked down the grey passage, and the baby's cries seemed to grow more faint with every step they took. She tried to pull free from Red's grip to go back towards the sound, but she was too weak from lack of nourishment and he easily overpowered her.

"Now, now," he said. "You're going to see the Doc. And as long as you keep what's going on between us our little secret, all will be fine."

Red pulled a box of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket, and took a long drag. The smoke made her nauseous, bringing back awful memories that she had thought she had forgotten. She had the insane urge to smack the roll from his mouth and crush it under her shoe, but she knew she'd never get away with it. He slowly exhaled smoke in her face, and she held her breath. Realizing he would not get a reaction from her, he took his badge from his pant pocket and swiped it to open the set of metal doors. After a long walk, they reached their destination, and were standing in front of an imposing, wooden door. In gold letters, it read "Dr. Jonathan Crane, M.D."

She allowed Red to move closer to her and place his hand on her shoulder. Without him noticing, she reached into his pocket. "Remember what I said," he hissed, squeezing her shoulder. Then he knocked on the door.

"Come in," Crane called, and Red pushed the door open as Elena hastily extracted her hand and dropped the stolen lighter in her dress pocket.

"Mr. Williams, next time you need to smoke, kindly do so in the yard," said Crane.

Red muttered something, annoyed at being caught, and quickly left the room, the door slamming behind him.

"Miss Moretti," said Dr. Crane, sitting at a large, mahogany desk at the end of the room. "Please sit." He gestured to an uncomfortable looking wooden stool in front of his desk. Though she was exhausted from her walk there, she took her time sitting down, making sure to show no outward sign of weakness. She looked much paler since the last time he saw her, but she still had the same fierce look in her grey blue eyes.

"Why am I here?" she asked, her voice cracking slightly.

"On Monday I told you of our appointment," he replied condescendingly.

"Right," she said, rolling her eyes.

Leaning towards her, he folded his hands in front of him and studied her through his glasses. "I trust your stay here has been to your satisfaction?"

"Oh sure. Who needs the Hamptons when you've got Arkham?" she answered sarcastically.

"Then you wouldn't mind answering a few questions?" he asked.

"As long as you don't mind answering a few of mine," she said sweetly.

"Miss Moretti, you are clearly unaware of how doctor- patient interactions function."

"As are you," she shot back as her stomach cramped uncomfortably. "Otherwise you wouldn't insult me every time we meet."

"How have I insulted you today?" he asked, an infuriating smirk appearing on his pale face.

"Asking how my stay is going." Especially since he knew of her no-food situation.

"I was merely being polite. Perhaps you should try the same?"

Elena scoffed at this.

"I'll take that as a no. Shall we start?" he asked, pulling out the same black briefcase he had when he first interviewed her.

"Perhaps _not_," she replied, standing up suddenly. "I'd rather- "

But then her head started spinning again, and she could hear her blood rushing. Her vision darkened and she hastily tried to grab something to steady herself, but her hand slipped and she felt a sharp pain in her wrist before collapsing on the floor.

* * *

Jonathan Crane was more than annoyed with this turn of events. He had been looking forward to his appointment with his new patient, and had planned on using the latest version of his toxin on her, if it had not been for the orderly Mr. Williams. He had been unaware that the man had seen fit to deprive the girl of food, and as a result, she had passed out. He couldn't dose her now- it would skew the data results. However, the day wasn't totally lost. He had a better idea of what he would do with her.

_Look, she's waking up_, the voice inside his head hissed.

"What the hell," she remarked sleepily. Elena slowly sat up from the black leather couch and was startled to see him staring at her intently from a chair opposite her. He set down his lab notebook on the coffee table between them and opened his mouth to speak, but she interrupted him.

"What did you do to me?" she asked accusingly.

"Nothing." Her eyes narrowed in familiar mistrust. He needed leverage, he realized, so reached into his suit pocket and extracted a granola bar. "When was the last time you ate, Miss Moretti?" He saw her pupils dilate in craving, and he knew he had her.

"What do you want from me?" she countered. Her hand twitched as she resisted the urge to simply grab the food from him.

His smirk widened, giving her the impression that he knew exactly what she was thinking. "Only that you consent to come to my office, and speak with me each day for the next month or so."

See him every day for an entire month?

"Hell no."

"Well, if that is truly what you want, Miss Moretti," he said, his hands up in surrender as he moved to pocket the granola bar in his jacket.

"What is it you want to know anyways?" she said quickly, not wanting the snack to leave her sight for a second in fear it may disappearing for good.

"What any psychologist would want to know. Your interests, hopes, dreams… family."

That word stopped Elena's heart. It hung in the air like a lurking bat in the dark of a cave. The fear she felt overwhelmed her, filling her gut more completely than any meal ever would.

"Why would you want to know about a man like that?" Tacitly, they both knew who she was talking about.

"What kind of doctor would I be if I did not make the effort to get to know my employer?" He lowered his voice as he spoke. When she had first met him he had seemed conceited, rude, and cold- but now he seemed something else entirely. Dangerous- that was the word for it.

"Read about him in the papers, that's a good of a place as any."

"I have, everyone in Gotham has. But you," he said, now leaning towards her, "Lived with him for sixteen years."

"Why don't you tell me what kind of shady business my uncle has you involved in."

He chuckled softly. "Now _that_ is above your pay-grade."

She was tired of playing his stupid game, and her words cut straight to the point. "So what are you offering me, exactly?"

"In return for my… protection during your stay in Arkham, you will tell me everything that you know, and answer any question I ask, no matter how distasteful or _aggravating _you may find it."

"Protection?" she asked skeptically. Dr. Crane wasn't exactly the most muscular guy in Gotham. He could be intimidating, she gave him that, but he lacked the physical strength to pose any real threat. Or so she thought.

"Yes, you will have food, water, medical care," he said lazily.

"I have a _right _to all those things. I'm in a hospital for crying out loud!"

"Miss Moretti, you really are in no position to make any bargains."

"My mistake. Why don't you go ask the other mental patient in your care that will give you all the answers you need to know?"

His mouth twitched in annoyance, seeing she wouldn't be bribed so easily. "What do you want then?"

"Well, in addition to everything you just offered me," she replied smugly, "I would like books, decent shampoo, and really anything that strikes my fancy."

"Within the realms of possibility, of course," he added.

"Of course," she repeated with all the fake enthusiasm she could muster.

"Well then, it's a bargain," he stated, holding out his hand.

Still suspicious of him, she hesitantly grabbed his hand in hers. They were rough, very unlike what she had expected a psychiatrist's hands to feel like. And cold. With a start, she realized she had held on too long and let go quickly, as if he had just burned her.

"Fine." In one deft movement, she grabbed the granola bar from him and ate it. It tasted like victory.

"I'll tell you all you want to know about the bastard that is Falcone tomorrow."

**Don't worry, Red has it coming! Elena will make sure of that. Also, did I make it clear enough in the chapter? But yeah, Falcone's her uncle.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Ta dah! Here is an extra long chapter for you all (well, I think it's pretty long, at least). Enjoy :D**

Elena had no intention of telling Crane anything the next day. She knew as soon as he got what he wanted from her, she would cease of being use to him and would be once again at the mercy of Red and Falcone. Fiddling with the lighter she had stolen from Red, she stood up and began to pace back and forth across her cell like a caged animal. She had to escape Arkham, for more reasons than one now. But how?

Ever since the last successful escape from the infamous mental institution, the outcry from Gotham citizens had forced the city to devote major resources into making the place a state of the art prison. They neglected the medical needs of the facility, and instead focused on improving the surveillance system, running lock down drills, and hiring more guards. That much was public knowledge. However, Elena had observed that while there were more guards on staff, they were paid poorly by the state, and as a result, had gotten lax on security. Supposedly, staff would count the patients every hour, but they would often start 30-45 minutes late.

But an extra 45 minutes would do her no good if she had no escape route.

"Time for Social!" shouted an orderly.

Elena dumped the lighter in her pocket and waited impatiently for the cell doors to buzz open. She stepped into line outside, and could feel cold unfriendly eyes watching her once again. True to his word, since her deal with Crane she had been allowed to eat, but she knew Red would never truly leave her alone. Dealing with him would be easy. Breaking out on the other hand…

Standing behind Ivy, they trudged along the corridor until they arrived at the break room. They filed inside, and the orderly locked the doors behind them. The break room was a place for patients to socially interact with one another, and contained a few ratty packs of cards, a small black and white television, and a few board games. She had known dental offices that were more fun.

She saw in the back corner table an overly friendly blonde waving her over, and Elena walked over and took a seat.

"Feeling better, honie?" Harley asked, and without waiting for a response continued, "See, I told ya he'd lay off eventually."

Elena made a noncommittal grunt. Harley was currently unaware of her bargain with Crane.

"Wanna play cards?" she asked brightly, pulling out a tattered pack of cards.

"Sure," Elena replied.

Harley began to deal the cards, but when she reached the joker of the set, she kissed it lovingly and tucked it into her dress pocket. Elena did her best to act as though nothing strange had just occurred.

Clearing her throat uncomfortably, Elena inquired, "So how long have you stayed here anyways?"

"Well, including the time I spent here as an intern-"

"You worked here?" Elena interrupted, stunned.

"Oh sure. I was going to be a doctor, 'til Mistah J saved me."

"What do you remember from working here?"

"What do you mean, missy?"

"I mean…" Elena lowered her voice considerably, and made sure no one was listening in before saying, "Could you break out of here?"

Harley let out a girly laugh, but before she could speak Ivy interrupted her. "Are you really so ignorant as to think we don't already have a plan to escape?"

The intensity of Ivy's glare was meant to cow her, but Elena didn't flinch. "If you don't mind my asking, what is it?"

Ivy rolled her eyes, and replied pretentiously, "Why would I tell you?"

"Oh, be nice Ivy," said Harley, and turning to Elena explained, "When we get the chance, we'll knock out a guard, take his key card and get the heck out of here."

Ivy pursed her lips, but said nothing.

Elena made her disappointment with their plan clear on her face. "Oh."

"Gotta problem?" Ivy asked, voice full of hostility.

"Well, it's just that…" Elena paused, looking for the right words. "It seems a little… brutal. I mean," she said quickly, upon seeing the look on Ivy's face, "Don't get me wrong, I'm sure you're more than capable of getting out of here, but with the new cameras and alert systems, you'd get out only to be thrown right back in. There are just so many things that could go wrong."

"We never asked for your opinion, _Elena_, so why don't you keep your nose out of it."

"Let's hear her out, Ivy, I mean it can't hurt," Harley pleaded.

"_No_," the redhead replied firmly. "She'd only get in our way." And on that note, she stormed off to the other side of the room to stare out the barred window.

"Sorry E," said Harley. "The doc's say she has trust issues."

"No kidding."

Elena stared at Ivy's back thoughtfully. She knew she couldn't get out without both of the girl's help, but she needed to gain their trust.

She stood up suddenly. "I need to go to the bathroom."

Harley raised her eyebrows skeptically. "Can't ya wait? It ain't a good idea to go alone with Red-"

"I'll be fine," she said confidently, strolling to the door and knocking on it loudly.

"What do you want?!" shouted an orderly from the other side.

"May I please visit the ladies room?" she called through the keyhole of the metal door.

She heard muted grumbling, and the door was yanked open.

"Williams, take her," the guard ordered, and Red appeared to escort her to the restroom. He grinned when he saw who she was.

"Come on," he said, grabbing her arm as they walked around the corner. They halted in front of the staff restrooms.

"Alone at last," he said quietly, with an iron grip on her arm.

"I couldn't agree more," she whispered. Astonishment crossed Red's face upon hearing her words. She suspected that he had never in his life encountered a girl that encouraged his advancements.

"I've been thinking," she continued, using her free hand to grab his white jacket and pull him closer, "About your offer. As long as no one finds out, it won't be a problem, right?" She could see disbelief still written on his face, so she leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "It'll be our little secret." A revolting smile appeared on his face, but she continued the façade and smiled seductively back. He smelled strongly of smoke and she resisted the urge to push him away and gasp for clean air.

Red opened his mouth and leaned forward, prepared to shove his tongue down her throat but she covered his mouth and hissed, "Wait!"

"What now?" he replied angrily.

"They're watching," she said, pointing at the video cameras in the hallway. "I know," she exclaimed, "Why don't we wait? Come to my cell tonight, after count. That way we'll have more… privacy." And by "privacy" she meant, "it's never going to happen asshole."

He considered what she said, and for a heart stopping moment she thought he wouldn't agree, but then he muttered, "Alright."

"Brilliant." She let go of his jacket, lifting one of his cigarettes, which she stowed in her pocket. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go to the bathroom."

If Red hadn't been preoccupied with other thoughts, he might have noticed that Elena walked into the Men's Room instead of the Ladies'. But thankfully, he didn't.

The bathroom was small, with only two stalls and a tiny rusty sink. Wasting no time, she pulled out the smoke she had stolen from Red, and lit it with his lighter. She then held the cigarette high up above her head and waited.

Suddenly a piercing screech echoed throughout the halls of Arkham. She dropped the distinctive Camel brand cigarette on the floor right where it could be seen and calmly walked out of the bathroom.

Red was drenched in water from the smoke alarms and livid. He marched her back to the break room, and then stormed off to find out what was going on.

Walking back to the table where Harley was seated, Elena couldn't help but smile. Red had no clue that she had just set him up.

* * *

Jonathan Crane was more than a little annoyed today. Thanks to the new alarm system, the fire department had been automatically called to Arkham. What's worse- there had been no fire. Determined to find who to blame, he had traced the alarm back to a smoke detector in the Men's Staff Washroom. And he had found on the floor none other than a Camel cigarette, the brand of cigarettes smoked exclusively by Mr. Jared Williams.

"Honest boss, I got no clue how that got there," he stammered, pointing at the cigarette butt on Crane's desk.

"Really?" he replied coldly. "Tell me, Mr. Williams, have you ever smoked within the walls of Arkham before?"

"No, boss, never-"

"I would suggest, for your own sake, not to waste my time with lies." His eyes flashed dangerously with an icy glint, and Red took a step back. Crane could feel the fear radiating off the man, and Scarecrow whispered his approval.

"Alright, maybe a couple of times, but-"

"Mr. Williams, you are fired, effective immediately. Clear out your locker, and if I ever see you on this property again... well, there is always room for you in the basement."

Red's face paled and beads of sweat arose on his forehead. He was one of the few orderlies that knew of his experiments, and was rightfully frightened.

_Do it, _hissed Scarecrow, audible only to Jonathan. _Dose him, we need another subject for the toxin._

_No, it's too risky, _he argued. _Someone will notice he's missing._

_So? _Scarecrow had never been one for caution.

_We can't have lawyers like Rachel Dawes sniffing around, can we? "Staff member goes missing" would surely attract her attention._

_We can take her as well. _Scarecrow had also never liked to listen to reason.

"Uh..." Red was standing there, watching Crane as he sat at his desk, silently arguing with his other half.

"You may go," Jonathan said curtly, dismissing Red before Scarecrow could convince him to change his mind.

As Red walked out, the Moretti girl walked in. Her dark grey eyes lit up when she saw a terrified Red leaving the office, and she beamed at him as she sat down on his couch without waiting for an invitation.

"Staffing problems?" she queried, putting her feet up on his glass coffee table as she spoke.

"It has been resolved." As if he would share anything with her.

"Did you fire him?"

"Perhaps."

"You should listen to me more, Crane." Her grin widened when he regarded her skeptically.

"Why is that, Miss Moretti?"

"Didn't I tell ya on Monday you should let him go? Remember? Looks like I was right. What a shame." She clucked her tongue sympathetically.

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. Why was she so interested?

"Maybe I should re-hire him, if this upsets you so much."

"Don't trouble yourself."

"Oh really," he replied, "It'd be no trouble."

The smile fell from her face, and she replied haughtily, "I'm afraid that would break our bargain, Crane. You guaranteed me protection, ring a bell?"

"Vaguely."

"And speaking of our bargain, I need something."

This girl was certainly demanding. And tiresome.

"I'll see what I can do. What do you need?"

"Nail polish remover."

She curled her hands into fists before he could get a good look at her nails. "They're chipping, it's really embarrassing."

He gave an irritated sighed.

"Answer my questions and perhaps."

That was clearly not the answer she wanted, but she simply said, "What do you want to know?"

"Falcone. Who are his rivals?"

She laughed. "No one. Everyone works for him. Nothing happens in this city that he doesn't approve of." She could not keep the bitterness out of her voice as she spoke. "No one _leaves _this city unless she says so." She knew. She had tried.

"How does he run his business then?"

"You mean 'The Roman Empire'?" That was the idiotic name her uncle had given his business. "Family, that's how."_  
_

"Do they all love him as much as you?" he asked.

"No," she said shortly.

Crane could tell that his questions were upsetting her, and this interested him. "What can you tell me about them?" he asked.

She clenched her jaw, and looked as though she would rather jump off the roof of the asylum.

"Well, he's training his kids Mario and Sofia so that one day they'll be able to run the business. Alberto on the other hand went to Harvard."

"How well do you know his children?"

"Not. Well."

She was clenching her hands so tightly now that he could see her knuckles were white. "And why is that?"

"Because I don't _want _to know them, that's why."

"Miss Moretti, are these questions making you uncomfortable?"

"We agreed you'd ask me about Falcone, not myself."

"No, we _agreed _you'd answer any questions I have, no matter how aggravating. _That _was the deal."

She stood up, and said furiously, "Why do you have to be so awful? I'm _trying _to help!"

He stood as well, and replied heatedly, "And you, Miss Moretti, should show me some respect."

"Respect is earned, _doctor_," she retorted.

"If you can't respect me, you will fear me," he whispered menacingly.

"Fear you?" she repeated with derision.

"Yes."

But this time it was not Crane who spoke.

_Scarecrow, we agreed I would handle the interviews! _Jonathan shouted, a prisoner in his own mind. He could do nothing now, having no control over even his own body. All he could do was watch.

_Sorry, I couldn't resist, _his alter ego replied. _She was just too... delicious._

_I order you to-_

_You don't order me around, Johnny boy. I _am _you, remember? Now I can't have you distracting me. Toodles._

_Scarecrow, I mean it-_

But then Scarecrow took his vision from him as well, and his world went black. He was shoved back to into the recesses of his very mind, forced to wait impatiently until Scarecrow let him back in. He felt a twinge of remorse. Crane hoped that Scarecrow would leave the girl's mind intact after he had finished terrifying her.


	8. Chapter 8

"Miss Moretti, I'd like to show you something," Scarecrow said, in that same low voice. It was devoid of its usual iciness, but still sent shivers down her body. Something about Crane had changed, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what.

"Whatever you say, Doc." She had crossed a line, insulting him so openly, and now she was going to pay. _Real smart move there, Elena, _she thought, cursing her loud mouth.

He opened the heavy wooden office door for her, and let her exit first. It was a gentlemanly gesture she had not thought possible of him. Suspicious, she followed behind him at a safe distance until they stopped at a set of ancient looking elevators. As they entered the musty smelling elevator, she heard the jingle of keys, and saw him select a small, bronze key and insert it into a slot on the wall and turn it. The doors closed in front of them with a dull thud- so final sounding.

She was filled with a sense of foreboding, and she hesitantly looked to her right and saw Scarecrow staring at her intently. She flushed under the intensity of his gaze, which seemed to be amplified by the unsettling blue color of his eyes. "Looking for something?" she asked, daring to meet his gaze.

A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but he did not reply.

"What? No clever retort?" she asked. If she was going to be punished for taunting him, she might as well make the most of it.

"None that you would comprehend," he replied.

The elevator came to a jerky halt, and she heard the faint ring of a bell as the doors opened. They were at the basement, beneath the walls of Arkham. It was even dirtier and unkempt than the upper levels, and she could see paint chipping along the walls and brown water stains from where it had flooded. There was a persistent smell of mildew along the corridor as well, to complete the pleasant effect.

"If you're trying to impress me, you're doing an awful job," she commented.

"Oh, Miss Moretti, we haven't even gotten to the best part." There was a hidden threat in his words, and Elena felt the crazy impulse to make a run for the elevator. But where would she run to?

Scarecrow strode along the hallway, Elena matching him step for step until he stopped in front of a door to the right. "Please," he said, opening the door and stepping away from the entrance, "Take a look inside."

She steps through the doorway when she is assaulted by the shrieks of a young man. The entire room is padded, but still he is strapped down to a bed, where he writhes and foams at the mouth. "Getawayfrommegetaway!" he spits, squirming desperately as he tries to free himself from the restraints along his head, chest, waist, arms and legs. Elena feels a hand at the small of her back, and looks over her shoulder to see Scarecrow standing behind her, a triumphant look upon his face.

"Don't be afraid," he whispers in her ear so that she can hear him over his patients' screams, and she flinches away, to his amusement. He pushes her forward, and she gingerly approaches the man's bed. The man's shrieks become louder and higher as she gets closer, and she sees his eyes roll back into his head, so only the whites of his eyes are now visible. Elena knows, as she listens to the man's pleas and begs for mercy, that Crane is only attempting to intimidate her, but she knew there was something much more sinister in that look he gave her in the elevator.

Unwittingly, she had gotten too close, and the man suddenly grabbed ahold of her hand and would not let go. She tried to pry her fingers away, but fear had improved his strength, and there was nothing she could do to stop him from twisting her fingers. He was close to breaking her left hand when Scarecrow advanced, and with alarming strength, pulled the patient's hand off of her own.

The door was sound proofed, so once it shut silence returned to the halls of Arkham.

"Do you know why I showed you that man, Elena?"

The use of her first name startled her, and it showed on her face.

"I believe we know each other well enough to skip such formalities, am I correct?"

"I'm not afraid of you."

"Oh, but you are Elena." He grabbed her wrist, and pulled her closer to him. "Your face is flushed, you are sweating, and your heart rate," he said, holding up her wrist, "Is skyrocketing."

Her mind went blank. He had her.

"And that's good," he continued, "That you're scared. You'd be a fool if you weren't. Because you know Elena, you'll end up just like that man if you don't cooperate from now on. Is that understood?"

She stared at him defiantly, and replied in an icy tone to rival his, "And you'd be a fool to think you can manipulate me that easily."

Scarecrow sighed, in mock disappointment. "I guess we haven't learned our lesson yet. Come along."

Scarecrow grabbed her arm and tugged her towards a set of double doors at the end of the hall. Crane was not the type to manhandle patients, preferring to outwit and outsmart them in order to get what he wanted. His other half- Scarecrow- enjoyed just the opposite. Scarecrow pushed open the doors, and welcomed her to Crane's and his greatest project to date by declaring, "This is where we make the medicine."

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light, and the sight that met her eyes was horrifying. The two of them were standing on a balcony overlooking a workshop of sorts. Over fifty inmates in ghastly orange jumpsuits were sitting along workbenches, wearing surgical masks as the stirred mystery liquids in different sized glass beakers and test tubes. Another handful were pouring some sort of substance into an opened pipe along the basement floor, flowing with rushing water.

She looked to him in confusion, and with a sneer he turned and walked down the metal steps, gesturing for her to follow. Tiptoeing down the stairs, she saw many inmates give her unfriendly looks, but upon seeing who she was with, they all cast their eyes elsewhere and got back to work.

"Gotham is at a tipping point, Elena. For years it has threatened to succumb to destruction, but never quite has. I am here to change that." He stopped at a metal gate hidden in the corner of the room where excess water drained, and rapped on the bars with his knuckles three times. "More powerful than any drug ever created is fear. It is the most primal instinct we feel as a species, and we do nearly anything to avoid it. It can even cause death, if one isn't too careful. And now I have discovered a way to spread it to all of Gotham. _I have bottled fear. _And in a few months, the entire city will know what fear _truly _is."

His speech stunned her. _He's really drugging the entire city. Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit._

"What do you want, Crane?" hissed a serpentile voice from within the metal gate they were now at.

She jumped backwards, not realizing anyone was actually _living _in the sewer, and ran into Scarecrow, who prevented her from leaving.

"Or is it Scarecrow?" asked the monster, evaluating Elena and the doctor through blood red eyes. That was really the only way to describe the man, or at least, that was what Elena assumed he once had been. His overly muscular body was covered in sickly green scales, and a large hand gripped the re-enforced steel bars of his prison, with vicious looking black nails. He was wearing large blue overalls, but that was the only human thing about him. She saw the black pupils of his red eyes dilate as they focused on her.

"What did you bring?" he inquired, in a harsh, rasping voice.

"Dinner," Scarecrow said simply, and before his words could register with Elena, he pinned her arms behind her and forced her towards the gate.

"No!" she cried, furiously trying to kick and claw her way free from Scarecrow's grip. But all of her attempts were futile, because even in his small frame, Scarecrow was much too strong for her.

"Don't worry darling, I won't eat all of you," said the lizard man. "Just a hand, or two." And to prove his point, he grinned, displaying his mouthful of jagged yellow teeth.

"Stop! Let me go, Crane!" she screeched, causing Scarecrow to twist her arm behind her back tighter.

"I'm not Crane," he said coldy. With one arm he held her, while he withdrew his key chain from his waistcoat pocket with the other. Dangling a large, iron key in front of her, he jeered, "Scared yet?"

**So… I've been on a writing spree when I really should be working. Oh well :O Let me know how you guys are liking it in the review box, please. Don't be shy, I don't bite (unlike Killer Croc) HA! Sorry, bad joke. But yes, please review, follow, etc.!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Updates! Updates everywhere! I apologize for the cliffhanger ending of the last chapter, it was very cruel of me, I know. Hopefully this quick update will make up for it :) And notice, I did change the description to keep it up to speed with what's going on in the plot. I hope you guys have as much fun reading this as I did writing it!**

Jonathan Crane paced impatiently back and forth across his mind. He did not enjoy it when Scarecrow shut him off so completely- he was the dominant after all, or he was _supposed_ to be, anyways. He had made his disapproval clear to Scarecrow, but he only snickered and ignored him, like he always did. Restraint and control- that was what Crane valued.

He was standing alone in the dark when a patch of light caught his eye.

"Finally," he muttered, hastily striding towards it. As he did, gradually his senses began to return to him. The first the return to him was his sense of taste- and a coppery tang of blood filled his mouth. The next was his sense of touch: a sore ache in his stomach and throbbing in his toe. "What have you gotten us into, Scarecrow?!" he shouted, unsure if his other half could hear him or not. Then his ears were filled with the sound of splashing water, and the faint shouts of a girl. "Scarecrow?"

Then in a rush, his sight returned, and he realized what Scarecrow had been up to. He was holding Elena in front of Killer Croc's lair, and pulled her back just in time before the crocodile's jaws could clamp down on her arm. They fell backwards, and Elena was quick to jump up and take off running.

Slowly, he got to his feet as well. His suit was drenched, but he'd saved the girl at least, _No thanks to you_, he directed at Scarecrow.

_Oh, loosen up Johnny boy, have a little fun. _

"Hey boss, what gives?" demanded Killer Croc, pressing his face on the metal bars.

"Having a little _fun_, that's all," he responded, in a tone of voice that made it clear he was not amused. He walked away, ignoring the looks his subordinates were giving him. Brushing the grime off his jacket, he noticed streaks of blood stained his coat. Examining his arms and head, he determined he was relatively uninjured, which only meant-

_Better hurry up now, and find your little girlfriend. Looks like the big bad alligator did a number on her_, said Scarecrow, cackling.

Muttering under his breath about the chance of him contracting hepatitis and AIDS, Crane stormed up the stairs in pursuit of his runaway patient. He was in no mood to play hide-and-go-seek, so he was somewhat placated to see that she was waiting for him in the elevator. He turned the key, and the elevator doors closed. Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, she saw she had three deep scratches along her arms. And she was steadfastly ignoring him.

"Try not to drip blood on the carpet," he said unsympathetically.

Normally, a comment like this would have provoked a venomous response from her, but now she remained quiet. He supposed he should be pleased with this development.

_You're welcome, _crooned Scarecrow.

"You are going to the hospital when we get off," he continued. "And you are to tell them your injuries were self-inflicted." It was the only story the nurses were likely to believe, besides the truth, anyways. Still, the Moretti girl said nothing.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably, unused to the silence that usually did not accompany her presence. Typically, _he _was the silent one. The elevator rang and the doors opened onto the second floor, and he was spared making any further conversation.

Without a word, Elena stumbled off the elevator and turned right, intent on going straight back to her cell. To hell with going to the hospital, she wanted to escape as quickly as possible and forget about everything that had just happened.

"I believe the infirmary wing is the other way," he said calmly, stepping in front of her and blocking her path. Ignoring him, she moved to the right to get past him, but he did as well. Furious, she moved to the left, but he sidestepped again and they were now chest to chest, glaring at one another. It didn't help Elena that he was a full two inches taller than her.

_Some obedience you taught her_, he commented to Scarecrow.

_Well you didn't let me finish_, Scarecrow snapped.

He could see the color draining from her face with each drop of blood that landed on the linoleum floor. She was shaking slightly, and for a moment lost her balance. She grabbed his arm to steady herself, smearing blood on his coat- again. He observed how annoyed she was that she needed his help to stand, and couldn't resist chuckling softly.

"You are unbelievable," she hissed.

"Finished with the silent treatment, are we?Well, it is of no consequence to me whether you believe me or not, as long as you get yourself to the infirmary."

Crane predicted what would happen next right before it did. Elena's knees suddenly gave in, and for a moment he debated simply letting her fall, but at the last moment caught her.

Scarecrow wolf whistled. _"Nice catch there."_

"I believe, Scarecrow, it is time for your break," he said aloud, tired of his constant tricks and pranks.

_"Oh come on, no hard feelings now Johnny?"_

"Good bye, Scarecrow," he said, and imagined in his mind Scarecrow tightly bound to a chair with duct tape over his mouth to silence him. His other half furiously struggled against the binds, but they held. Perfect.

Crane had managed to solve one of his problems today, even if the solution was only temporary. However, there was still the girl to consider. He could risk bring her to the hospital wing, but he was uncertain of how she would behave when she awoke. From what he gathered, Scarecrow had impulsively shared their plan to dose the entire city with fear toxin, which was a secret he could not afford to be leaked. But if she didn't receive medical care, she may very well contract an infection and die. _Is she worth it? _he wondered, but Scarecrow had been silenced, so he would receive no guidance. Finally he made up his mind, and lifting her small frame in his arms, he began to walk in the opposite direction, away from the infirmary.

* * *

Elena cautiously opened her eyes and found herself back in her cell. She had a killer headache, and her left arm was sore and throbbing. Lifting her arm off the bed, she saw a handful of tiny black stiches dotted her arm. Pulling herself up, she found the cell block quite empty. The first thing she did was try the cell door, but she found it quite locked. "Damn it," she muttered.

Her last encounter with Crane had left her shaken. Remembering how the crocodile man had gotten ahold of her arm and left three deep scratches left her feeling weak and nauseous. She had been sure Crane was going to let him bite her, but at the last possible moment he had pulled her away, causing both of them to fall to the floor. It was ungraceful, and rather unlike him, almost as if he hadn't been planning it. But he had got what he wanted. She admitted it, if only to herself, but she had been terrified out of her mind of that creature. How did something like that even happen? Was it something in the water? She suddenly regretted all those days she had drank the grey tap water in solitary.

Heavy footsteps alerted her to the presence of an approaching guard. "You're late for breakfast," the badge said gruffly, and buzzed open her door. He marched her down to the dining hall, and after "taking" her meds, she got her tray of food and sat down at a table with Harley and Ivy.

"There you are," said an ever so bubbly Harley Quinn. "We were worried about you!"

The drop dead glare Ivy gave Elena told her otherwise, but she smiled back all the same.

"Yeah, I was just…" She struggled for words to explain what had happened. "Tired from my appointment with Crane."

"He's your psychiatrist?!" exclaimed Harley. "Girl, you're lucky. I have fossilized Dr. Kellerman every week."

"Trust me, I'd trade if I could," Elena replied, starting to eat her overly bland porridge.

"Whaaat? You're insane!" Harley's outburst drew nasty looks from patients surrounding them, and Harley had the decency to look embarrassed and lower her voice. "Mah bad, poor choice of words, but really, that man is so yummy! Just look at his cheekbones- I mean even when I worked here-"

"I take it you've forgotten about the Joker, then?" interrupted Ivy.

"Nah, Mistah J is my one and only, but that doesn't mean I can't have a little eye candy now and again."

Ivy scoffed at her reply, but said nothing else.

"Don't ya agree Elena? Ain't he something?" implored Harley.

"I've never met the Joker," she said.

"Nah, Crane! I mean, just look at those sexy eyes."

"I guess you've never met him, because he's positively awful." Her statement seemed to disappoint Harley, and eager to change the subject, Elena said, "So have you thought about it?" She spoke discreetly, leaning in so there was less of a chance of them being overheard.

"With Crane? Oh sure- oh." The eager look fell from her face when she realized that had not been what Elena was talking about. "Oh, you mean flying the coop."

"_We_ are not interested," said Ivy, putting extra emphasis on "we" to make it clear Harley was not interested either.

"Well then, have fun being caught," said Elena.

"You think you are so smart, don't you?" Ivy spat, offended.

"No, I'm not, that's why I need both of your help." This shut Ivy up, giving her the chance to continue speaking. "I have a plan, but I need at least three people to help carry it out."

"There's nothing wrong with our plan!"

"There is," Elena said stubbornly. "Remember last month when the Joker tried to break out of Arkham? It was all over the news in Gotham. He murdered one guard with a contraband pencil and snapped the necks of two more. He made it over Arkham's walls, but they caught him right after he made it over."

"What's your point?"

"The point is: the response time of the guards is too quick. If you try to fight your way out of here, someone is bound to sound the alarm. And even if you do make it out of here undetected, the heat sensors or searchlights outside are bound to spot you."

"C'mon Ivy," murmured Harley, placing her hand on Ivy's. Ivy closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Finally, she replied, "What is this brilliant plan, then?"

Elena was delighted she was being given a shot, but she forced herself to keep a straight face. Ivy would probably interpret a smile as an insult. "Well," Elena said, "Everyone expects us to try to _climb_ over Arkham's walls, they'd never expect us to go _under_."

"We can't possibly _dig_" Ivy spluttered.

"And I'm not asking you to" Elena replied calmly. "There are sewers beneath Arkham, I saw them myself today. They all seem to drain north, exactly where the Gotham River is. If we can get to the sewers, we can get out of here."

"The sewer?" asked Harley, disgusted.

Ivy hushed her, and motioned for Elena to continue. "We need to start a fire- a big one- so that they evacuate everyone. And no one in their right mind takes elevators during fires, right? So that will leave it open for us, which we'll take down to the basement, emptied of workers due to the fire. Then we'll follow one of the sewer pipes until we reach the sanitary drain, and slide down and out of here!" She could hardly keep the excitement out of her voice as she spoke.

"You say patients work down there," Ivy said skeptically. "So why haven't any of them discovered this escape route?"

This is exactly what Elena had been hoping to avoid talking about. "Well, the gate's locked." And there was the murderous lizard man that lived there, but that was a talk for another day.

"Yeah, but what about Mistah J? We can't leave without him."

"Why not, Harley?" Ivy countered. "He would leave without you. In fact, he _has _left without you before."

"He explained everything to me, he _tried _to break me out but it was just too difficult. He deeply regretted it, he tol' me so! He was so afraid I'd hate him for leaving me, but I told him I forgave him, because I'm understanding! Why can't _you_ understand that I love him, Ivy?!"

"Okayy," interrupted Elena, trying to diffuse the situation, but it was too late.

"Because he's using you, that's why. He's been manipulating you ever since you first met!" Ivy shouted, standing up and kicking her chair aside.

"You're just jealous that I have someone! You're still pining over that scientist that poisoned and dumped your ass!"

"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU JUST SAID THAT!" Ivy shrieked, jumping across the table in an attempt to strangle Harley. Elena's ears were filled with the shrill of a whistle being blown and was pushed aside as guards tried to pry the two away from each other. She sighed, frustrated. This was the team she had to work with.

"317," said a guard, "Time for your appointment with Dr. Crane."

"Can't think of a better way to start my morning, boss."

_Please God, don't let them kill each other, _she prayed silently.

* * *

Crane wasn't the type to obsess over anything, unless it was his research, of course. So when he dug through his filing cabinet to find Elena Moretti's files, he was simply being curious. He flipped through her grade reports, academic achievements, medical history- and found the file surprisingly short. She had a birth certificate, but there were no records of her birth in any hospital in the city. Finished with his reading material, he had nothing to do but run their conversations through his mind over and over again- purely due to his scientific curiosity. He'd dismissed her at first, believing her spirited but otherwise harmless. However now, he was considering the possibility that _perhaps _he might have miscalculated.

_"You should listen to me more, Crane," _she had said to him, before Scarecrow had taken over. It was the first time he had seen her smile- her dark grey eyes had danced in amusement, even though he had been nothing but cold towards her. It was because of his staffing arrangements, he deduced. Why had she been so interested? She must have been glad to see Mr. Williams, or "Red", as he styled himself nowadays, leave but how could she have known he had fired him?

So when Crane decided to go through all of the video recordings from the previous day, it was only because he was mildly interested in the girl. Nothing more. Fast forwarding though all of the footage, he paused the tape right as Mr. Williams was walking down the hall with a skinny blonde in tow. Playing the material, he watched as his former employee pressed her against the wall. He couldn't help but be overwhelmed with cold fury as he zoomed in on the black haired man tilting his head to kiss her. But then she seemed to be saying something to him, and after a moment's deliberation, the orderly released her. So intrigued by this turn of events, he almost didn't notice the second peculiar event that occurred. He had to rewind the film to convince himself of what he saw, but the second time he played the recording, there was no mistaking it.

Instead of walking to the right, she turned left into the Men's Washroom. The same washroom that set off the smoke alarm. It was clear Mr. Williams was never in that restroom that day- only a scheming grey eyed blonde. A taciturn smile appeared on his face at this realization- his appointment with Elena Moretti would without a doubt prove to be _very _entertaining.

**Please let me know in the reviews how you are liking Ivy and Harley. I think Harley is kind of my spirit animal, just saying. And is it alright that I'm switching between Elena and Crane's viewpoints, or would you rather there be just one? Let me know, and I hope to update soon :)**


	10. Chapter 10

Elena fidgeted uncomfortably in her grey uniform dress. Recently, she had found the fabric coarse and irritating against her skin. It was frayed at the ends of the skirt from repeated washing, and the edges of her sleeves were also coming undone. She would much rather wear the sleepwear the hospital had given them all day- plain, white pants and a soft night shirt. But since when did she have a say in anything that went on in this hospital?

She was sitting in Dr. Crane's office waiting for their daily interview, and had been doing so for the past twenty minutes. No doubt he was forcing her to wait on purpose, as part of another of his psychological games he loved to play, to bait her. But she now knew better than to react to him- he had shown her what he was capable of in the basements of Arkham.

The image of the reptilian monster came to mind; the way he had flicked his forked tongue at her and _hissed_, the nauseating green scales that covered his body, how he had nearly bitten her hand off with his jagged yellow teeth. The message was clear: obey or else.

Crane had always seemed to cold, his eyes like frozen ice in the dead of winter, but the Crane that led her down to the basement had a fiery temper, and been violent as well. The doctor had always struck her as the type that adhered to a strict set of rules, and she had not pegged him as the type that would hit her, or offer her up as lunch meat to a hungry alligator for that matter. Yesterday proved once again how wrong she was. And he had told her how he planned to poison the entire city.

She was refastening the button to her breast pocket, which concealed her stolen lighter, courtesy of Red, when Dr. Crane walked in. She quickly dropped her hands to her lap.

"Hello Miss Moretti," he said calmly, sitting down in the chair opposite her behind his mahogany desk, as if nothing horrific had happened the day before. "How are you this morning?"

"Oh, being polite today, are we?" she asked, before she could stop herself.

His eyes flashed, but whether from anger or amusement, she couldn't tell. His thoughts were a mystery to her, one she would probably never solve.

Without taking his eyes off of her, he reached for a file folder on his desk and pulled a sheet of paper out. "It would be wise not to aggravate the person that holds your life in their hands."

"Who said I'm wise?" she teased. If he was going to murder her she might as well make the most of it.

"I'm not going to kill you, if that is what you are wondering," he said. "But your actions will have consequences, make no mistake. Do I have your assurance that no one will find out about the project occurring downstairs?"

"Who would I tell?" she responded. "The lovely lunch matrons?"

"Or Mr. Falcone," he said, eyebrows raised, prepared to gauge her reaction. "He says he will visit this Wednesday."

Her facial expression did not change, though he could see her jaw clench. He was a master at concealing his emotions, while she wore hers on her face, plain to see. He could read her like a book.

"Wonderful," she muttered. He could see from where he was sitting she was fiddling with the lining of her dress and his eyes lingered on the bare skin of her pale legs.

_Ogling the patients, are we? _asked an unwelcome voice. _Tsk tsk, how unprofessional._

Crane eyes hastily darted back down to the file on his desk, and thought furiously, _Scarecrow, you agreed to be silent._

_Sorry, _Scarecrow mock apologized, laughing. _Only here to help._

"So," Crane continued, a bit ruffled by Scarecrow's comment, "You attended Saint Francis' Preparatory School for elementary, middle, and high school, but never went to college." It wasn't a question, but a statement, and an accusatory one at that.

"Guess school was never my thing, doc."

"When you were transferred to Arkham, I was sent your grade reports as well. All A's, every year. Applied to over eight different colleges and accepted to Princeton, among other schools."

"Why are you so interested, Crane? Is this giving you more _insight _into my psyche?"

_You _let _her call you that? _Scarecrow scorned. _If it had been anyone else, you would have poisoned them by now. Let me take control, I'll teach her-_

_Yes, because that worked so well last time, _Jonathan replied derisively. _Some indulgence to our patients is necessary, if we are to find the answers we are looking for. _He had hoped that would be the end of the discussion, but Scarecrow continued.

_About Falcone? Oh please, we can handle him if he decides to turn on us. You know what I think Johnny? I think you _like _staring at that pretty face an hour every day. _

_Then you may _be _me, but you don't know me very well, to think I'm affected by such superficial things. _Crane turned his attention back to his patient, but found she wasn't paying attention either. She was leaning her elbow on his desk and resting her head on her hand, gazing out the office window. Her eyes were what intrigued him, though. They were not the muted, cloudy grey shade he observed occasionally in his patients, no doubt due to the memory fogging drugs he prescribed. Her irises were fiercely grey, with pupils as black as the glossy wings of a crow in a field. Completely devoid of color, they still seemed… vibrant. His eyes traveled downwards to the thin grey fabric of the hospital uniform that only barely concealed the curves of her breasts.

She had caught him staring at her, and was unimpressed.

"Find what you were looking for, doctor?"

"Why must you be so hostile, Miss Moretti?"

"I'm the hostile one?! Are you kidding me?"

Crane's amusement at her outburst must have shown on his face because she scoffed in disbelief. "You tried to feed me to a fucking alligator!"

"Actually he's a crocodile." She stared at his incredulously, and her mouth opened and closed but no words came out.

"Is something the matter?"

"I'm sorry," she said in a tone that made it clear she was _not _so. "I'm just trying to wrap my head around- how did you say that with a straight face? Honestly, it's like you're made of ice! Are you allergic to human emotion or something?!" She was livid.

"Perhaps you should calm down, Miss Moretti," he said.

She could hear the blood rushing through her head and she stood up suddenly. "Unless you have mean to feed me to someone else, I'll be going."

"_Sit_," he said sternly, his mouth in a grim line.

She did sit, but not back in her seat across from him. Instead she walked to the leather couch he used for therapy sessions and sat, as far from him as possible.

He feigned an irritated sigh and stood up, readjusting his tie as he did and walked over towards her. Crane was really more amused than anything, though he didn't show it.

Elena knew he would follow her over to the couch, but did not predict that he would sit _right next to her_. She did her best to not feel uncomfortable, because she knew that was what he wanted.

"What now?" she asked. She fought the flush of color that threated to rise to her face when she thought of his proximity to her.

He said nothing, and instead rose his hand slowly to her face. _Don't look at him, don't look at him_ she thought, but her eyes darted to his face. Sharp cheekbones, penetrating blue eyes- _Curse his attractiveness _she swore and looked away.

With two fingers, he lightly tilted her chin upwards. His touch was cold, but sent sparks of warmth shivering down her spine. She refused to flinch, or look at him for that matter, afraid her body would betray her. She closed her eyes.

"What have we here?" he asked, and her eyes shot open. In his hand he had her lighter- when she had had her eyes closed he had unbuttoned her breast pocket.

_Dammit._

He flicked the lighter, and the flame went on. "You didn't really think you could trick me, did you? The fire, leading me to believe it was caused by Red- clever, but not clever enough." He held the flame so close to her face that she could smell the gasoline. "I'll be keeping this." He was so close to her, and she could feel his soft whisper on her bare neck. He let the cap SNAP shut, startling her. "And to answer your previous question," he taunted, "Yes, I did find what I was looking for." Then he smirked that infuriating smile of his. "What did you think I was looking at beforehand, Miss Moretti?"

She hated him, every last inch.

"You may leave, now," he said. He was back in control, in power.

She seriously debated snatching the lighter back, but in the end, admitting defeat, stormed out of his office.

Crane felt elated, but not for long.

_You know she doesn't belong to you? She's not _your _plaything_, hissed Scarecrow. _She's Falcone's, and when he comes on Wednesday he'll remind you of that. Just imagine what he'll do to her. If you're lucky maybe he'll let you watch-_

_Enough! _Crane shouted, determined to regain control of his mind again. _I will deal with Falcone. Soon enough he will fear me. _His mind traveled back to Elena, remembering just moments ago how she had refused to look at him. _Everyone will._


	11. Chapter 11

_Disclaimer: As some of you may notice, the last half of the first section is from the movie, with some inner monologue from the smexy Crane. I did not write that portion of the dialogue between Crane and Falcone, all rights go to Christopher Nolan, etc. I just thought it would be fun to play around with what Crane and Scarecrow might have been thinking then. If you re-watch the scene like I did, you see his bitch face is on the entire time, lol. I hope this chapter is long enough for you guys, I know in the past some of my chapters have been pathetically short. This IS my longest chapter yet, so I think I deserve some props for that haha :P_

Crane cursed as he stepped in yet another foul smelling puddle that plagued the alleyway to _The Falcon's. _Falcone had insisted on meeting in his favorite bar off St. Andrews Street, managed and run by none other than the mob boss himself. Ironically, it was one the only legitimate business he owned, and served as a front for his other dealings in the underworld. Situated off the canal separating Downtown Gotham from the Narrows, the location was less than pleasant- hence the puddles.

"Spare some change?" queried an elderly homeless man, warming his gloved hands above a trash can fire. Balding, what hair he had left on his head was shoulder length and matted, and his salt and pepper beard was no better kept. The wool coat he was wearing, however, looked suspiciously name brand and was the only dirt free item of clothing on him. He could have been a thieving drug addict, or a laid off businessman- you never knew in these times. Crane supposed the former.

"Why? With that stolen coat you seem to be doing just fine."

"This ain't stolen!" he replied indignantly, in a voice hoarse from the cold. "A fella gave it to me."

"With his wallet and other valuables, I am sure," Crane replied sarcastically, as he took his time sidestepping trash and other debris that littered the dank alley the man no doubt called home, and walked up to the side exit of the bar. It was best that no one besides Falcone knew that he was here.

"Well, yeah," the vagabond replied, as if it were the most obvious explanation in the world. "It's a nice coat," he mumbled, bemused. He held the lapels of the jacket open for inspection and nodded in a satisfied sort of way, as if, with his new coat, he had everything going for him in life.

_He would make an ideal test subject, Johnny boy, _hissed Scarecrow. _Who would miss him?_

_We have enough patients at the moment, without adding another street urchin to the mix, _Crane replied as he rapped three times on the metal door, paused, and then knocked twice more- the code required in order to visit Falcone. Scarecrow though, had something else in mind.

The homeless man's shouting brought Crane back to his senses.

"Whoa whoa! Hold up man, look you can have the coat, jeez! Just hold up, alright?"

Crane suddenly realized his arm was outstretched. He was pointing his fear toxin weapon at the tramp, who must have mistaken it for a gun. It rattled him how easily Scarecrow had taken over without his knowledge or consent.

_Scarecrow- !_

_Calm down sweetie pie, just having a little fun._

"Doctor Crane?" grunted a low voice. "Mr. Falcone is waiting."

Jonathan masked his annoyance, along with his fear toxin gun, before turning around and facing the muscled bodyguard that was standing at the door. "Of course," he said smoothly, and walked inside; leaving the homeless man to puzzle out what had just happened. The side exit door slammed shut behind Crane, and the unnamed beggar remarked to himself, "Damn coat's more trouble than it's worth."

Inside _The Falcon's_, it was comfortably warm, and Crane's fingers ached as they adjusted to the warmer temperature. He could hear faint music playing from the front of the bar, but it soon faded as he was escorted down the hallway. Framed newspaper clippings of past heists and other memorabilia hung on the walls, including articles of a number of Falcone's hits performed on rival mob bosses and prosecuting attorneys. It was surprising how much the DA let him get away with, but then again, it wasn't really.

_This is stupid, even for you, Johnny, _Scarecrow whispered as they continued walking. _We need_ _Falcone if we are to have enough toxin to dose the entire city in a few months. This will only serve to aggravate him. Let him have the girl, we can always play with her afterwards. _It was strange for Scarecrow to be the rational half for once, but Crane was not about to concede.

_If we do not put our foot down, he will continue to ask for more favors. We can't afford to attract anymore unwanted attention from the DA's office, not when they can still stop us. Recall Rachel Dawes? _Just the other day she had alleged he was guilty of corruption after he had testified to Victor Zsasz's insanity. Her accusation was true, but her moral outrage, grating.

_We won't attract any attention, _Scarecrow said, rolling his eyes. _If we are _really _going to do this, at least admit the reason why._

Crane knew what he was hinting at. _We made a bargain remember? She will give us information in return for protection._

_Cool, calm, collected Crane, couldn't resist a pretty face, _sang Scarecrow.

_As I recall, that seems to be _your _weakness, Scarecrow. _More than once he had to put up with his other half's escapades to the brothels of Gotham.

_I wouldn't call it a weakness, Johnny boy._

At the end of the hall was an open door, and Crane slipped past the burly, muscled henchman and walked into the office first, closing the door on the man behind him. He had to ensure that Falcone's and his would be a private conversation. With any luck he would uphold his bargain with Moretti and get rid of Rachel Dawes; killing two birds with one stone, wasn't that the saying?

_We'll continue this discussion later, _he told Scarecrow. Something told him that handling the crime lord would require all of his attention.

He sat down stiffly in the chair in front of Falcone's desk, and said abruptly, "No more favors, someone is sniffing around."

Clearly not used to being spoken to in such a way, Falcone leaned forward, feathers ruffled, and said "Ey, I scratch your back you scratch mine Doc, I'm bring in the shipments-"

"We are paying you for that," he interrupted. _Idiot. _This man's lack of intellect was evident, and Jonathan did not relish the time they spent together.

_It was a wonder Moretti is related to him, _he thought.

"Maybe money isn't as interesting to me as favors," Falcone responded, stubborn as ever.

_Perhaps not._

_We are getting nowhere, _Scarecrow whispered. _Let me handle him. _And without waiting for a reply from Jonathan, he assumed control over his body, removing his glasses as he did. Jonathan was the one that needed prescription glasses, not Scarecrow.

Scarecrow lowered his voice to a sinister whisper, and spoke. "I am more than aware you are not intimidated by me, Mr. Falcone, but you know who I work for, and when he gets here-"

"He- He's coming to Gotham?"

"Yes he is." Scarecrow's face remained just as impassive as Jonathan's, masking the personality shift, but both of them took pleasure in the slight edge of fear that crept into Falcone's voice when he spoke. "And when he gets here, he is not going to want to hear that you have endangered our operation just to get your _thugs_ out of a little jail time."

"Who's bothering you?"

"There's a girl at the DA's office."

Jonathan began to grapple with Scarecrow for control of his body, but his other half refused to lend him control of a single muscle.

"Well buy her off," Falcone said, completely unaware of the struggle that was going on right before his eyes.

_Obviously I have already thought of that you insipid fool, _Scarecrow meant to say, but Jonathan instead replied, "Not this one."

"Oh, idealist huh? Well, there's an answer to that too."

"I don't want to know," said Jonathan, but Scarecrow's look of hunger showed in the gleam of his blue eyes, which flickered a predatory green in the yellow light. It was a look familiar to Falcone- one that many of his associates, and even himself, wore. Some crimes men didn't commit for money, power, or love. They committed those crimes because they enjoyed it, they _reveled _in it.

"Yes you do."

Falcone was not completely unobservant.

"Then you will, of course, understand why it is best that you do not visit Arkham in the meantime. Your presence at my mental institution will only fuel Miss Dawes's beliefs."

"Hey, now _that _I did not agree to. Alright, you don't have to testify in court for a while, but I'll visit my girl whenever I want to. That was the whole point of sending her there!"

"And what should I tell the DA when he asks why Carmine Falcone visited my Asylum? It was a courtesy call?" His voice dripped with sarcasm and impatience.

"Alright, alright, I'll do like your boss says. And I'll hold off on the visits too, capiche? Tell my little dove not to be too disappointed, I'll stop by soon enough," he chuckled. "Bet you wished you lived The Life, huh Doc? Having girls like that on your arm, and at my age? But then again, you don't look like the type that gets out much." He snorted at his little joke. "She was always my favorite; I gave everything she ever asked for, shoes, clothes, jewelry, and look how she repays me. Caps my best Lieutenant and gives the DA enough evidence to send me to prison for 10 years. Good thing I got friends in high places or I might of actually served half of that!" He laughed, like only a man that had an entire city under his thumb could. "But that's women for you, right?"

"Mr. Falcone, I don't see how any of that is relevant."

"My point is, I don't like sharing Doc. I didn't like sharing this city with the Maroni family, so I got rid of every last one of them, from that mobster Luigi to his snot nosed little kids. I don't share my business and I don't share my women, so if I find out that someone on your staff so much as touched her-"

"-They will be dealt with accordingly," Crane said coolly, rising from his chair. "Of course."

"That includes you, Doc," Falcone added menacingly.

It was a good thing Crane had already turned to head for the door, otherwise Falcone might have seen his smirk.

"I am warned."

* * *

"Time for your meeting with the Doc," said Jason, a recently hired twenty-something security guard, as he stopped in front of her cell. He was a tad more enthusiastic in his job than most of his co-workers. This was only a temporary job, he told anyone that would listen, until he passed the civil service exam and became a cop. _It will be a sad day in hell when that happens, _she thought. Jason was literally the worst security guard there- he never showed up on time, missed Count frequently, and was highly susceptible to Ivy's charms (when she wanted, Ivy could be very flirtatious and charming).

She stood up and waited obediently in front of her cell door until it was buzzed open.

"How'd the exam go?" she asked as they walked down the hallway together.

"Eh," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "They said I'm not ready yet. Something 'bout forgetting to read about a girl named Miranda Wrights, or some shit."

"Hey, you'll get there," she said encouragingly. "Soon I'll be calling you Deputy Jason, huh?"

"Yeah," he said gloomily. "How's Ivy?"

"Oh, fantastic. She talks about you a lot, you know."

"Really?" he asked, perking up, his brown puppy dog eyes as wide as saucers.

"Definitely," she reassured him. It wasn't a lie, not really. Ivy did talk about him, just not always in a positive way. "She told me she wants to see you more. Maybe you can schedule some more shifts in Ward C. I know she'd be _thrilled_."

"I'll try," he said, scratching the back of his neck and scrunching up his face in thought. "Doctor Crane's paying us overtime to work in the basement, though, to work on... stuff," he finished lamely.

That delicious bit of information caught her interest. "Ain't it creepy, though? How do you even get down there?"

"Only the Doc has the keys for the elevator- Whenever we need to enter or leave, he buzzes us in or out, not that that's often. Most the guys just stay down there 24/7. The lunch ladies deliver the food."

_Great_, she thought. That was not what she wanted to hear. She would have to inform Ivy that Jason didn't have the keys they needed, but he still had other uses. Jason was one of the few guards that worked in the Security Department, monitoring cameras. If they could only figure out a way to disable the cameras in the hall leading to the elevator, they'd be one step closer to escaping. Losing her lighter to Crane had been a set back, and just thinking about it still made her blood boil, but Elena was determined to find a way out. Jason would very likely lose his job for (unwittingly) helping them escape, but that was unavoidable collateral damage.

Jason led her into Crane's office, and she heard the familiar _click _as the door was locked behind her. Apparently she was still a flight risk. Again, Crane was not there yet so she mulled around the room, looking for anything of use to her. Her eyes scanned the carpeted floor for stray thumbtacks or forgotten pencils, but the floor was as clean as the rest of the room. On Crane's desk sat a lamp, a pad of sticky notes, and a jar of paperclips. She helped herself to two paperclips, then double checked under the couch and behind the bookshelves to make sure Crane was not lurking somewhere out of sight, before sitting down in his chair and propping her feet up on his desk. She sincerely hoped he hadn't installed any security cameras in this room, otherwise she was in trouble.

Taking the first paper clip, she bent it straight. She did the same for the second one, except she added a little upward bend at the end of it to create a hook. Her lock picking skills were a bit rusty, but she still remembered the basics. Inserting the first paper clip into the bottom half of the desk drawer's key hole, she gently tried to turn it left, and then right. She assumed the lock should turn right, since it had a little more give. Then, using the second clip, she delicately pressed it into the lock and began to wiggle it up and down to release the pins. The desk, with all it's scratches and dents, looked ancient, so hopefully it only had three or four pins. After hearing three soft clicks she tried to turn to lock, but it wouldn't budge. She blew her side bangs out of her face, and wiggled the paper clip a little more ferociously. Upon hearing the final _click _of the last pin, she turned the lock and opened the drawer.

She was beyond disappointed when she found the only thing inside was a black, leather bound notebook and pen. No lighter, or weapon of any kind, unless you counted the pen. She considered simply taking the pen and locking the drawer back up with the paperclips, but something told her that Crane would know she had taken it. He did not seem the type to simply "lose" things. He probably had every single item in his office archived, for all she knew.

Opening the journal, she found it was a record of all Crane's patients. Many of the names she didn't recognize, and she flipped through the pages until she found a familiar one. "Harleen Quinzel" it read in cursive script. _His handwriting sucks, _she observed, _That's probably the reason he became a doctor. _

"Patient has become despondent, as of late," the entry dated two days ago wrote, "Upon hearing of injuries Mr. John Doe "Joker" received in a recent confrontation with correctional officers. Following transfer to Ward C, patient has become less hyperactive and more cooperative. It is suggested the transfer be permanent, and visits between patient and "Joker" be minimal, if at all, allowed."

_Harley will be thrilled to hear that_, Elena thought.

She flipped the page, and next was "Dr. Pamela Lillian Isley." Hadn't Harley once called Ivy, Pam?

"Refused blood-work to be conducted; when seduction did not succeed in convincing the observer otherwise, patient resorted to violence and had to be sedated. Various immunities to natural toxins and disease is intriguing."

Ivy tried to seduce Crane? She would have paid to see that.

The name on the next page caught her eye. _Oh lord. _

"Elena Moretti: Recent appointments have shown patient to be irritating, vexatious, and determinedly unhelpful. Appears pale, and slightly malnourished, but otherwise healthy. Slits on wrists/ stitches healing nicely. Niece to Carmine Falcone, relationship (?). Grade reports imply above average intelligence, yet observation suggest otherwise. Emotional. Curious grey eyes. Circumstances regarding institutionalization to be investigated further. Ideal test subject."

Her entry was much longer than the others, but far from flattering. She scoffed, then shoved the journal away from her in disgust. She was not irritating! If that word were used to describe anyone, it would be Crane!

_Vexatious, emotional- who does he think he is? Some psychiatrist. _She re-read the line containing the words, "observation suggests otherwise" and felt overwhelmed with annoyance. She was not coming here every day to be pricked and prodded like some guinea pig.

_"Circumstances regarding institutionalization to be investigated further"- like hell he was. _Falcone was vicious, but not as intelligent as he liked to think himself. She was sure he would never deduce the real reason why she ratted on him and killed Jacobs, but Crane on the other hand... He had discovered the trick she pulled on Red, setting off the fire alarm. She couldn't let him figure it out; she was sure an emotionless psychopath like him wouldn't hesitate to tell Falcone if it benefited him. She was filled with a sudden anxiety, and felt on the verge of tears. What did it matter to him why she was here, anyways?

_Why does he have to be so goddamn nosy?_ she thought furiously, fighting the wave of despair that threatened to overcome her.

What to do, though? She could hide his journal, but he would certainly find it eventually, or force her to tell him where it was. She couldn't take the pen either, he would find that too. Shakedowns of patient cells were common at Arkham, and more thorough that those performed at Gotham's prison.

Suddenly something _clicked_ in her head, much like the pins of the lock had, and a brilliant idea hit her. Picking up the pen, she began to write.

* * *

_Shout out to Azura Soul Reaver, The Eclectic Eccentric, Megushie, Lola93091, jedidah, takara410, ThePhantomismyLove, a Panda (!), ATLAsnaps-fan, Wolfish Imp and Blue Wonderland for leaving such kind reviews! Especially Blue Wonderland, I think I cried when I read yours omg you are too sweet! And thank you everyone else who followed/ favorited, I promise to keep updating as frequently as possible! ;D_


	12. Chapter 12

_Hey guys! Notice the new image cover? It's better than what it was before at least, I think. I have a poll on my profile (it's at the very top) where you can vote on whether you want this image, or the old one (in case you don't remember, it was just a simple picture of Cillian Murphy in glasses) :D_

Elena never hated taking showers until she moved to Arkham. Everything about the showering rooms was run down and filthy. The walls of the room were painted a deathly yellow color, marred with numerous water stains and areas of chipping paint. The pipes, visible on the ceiling of the large room, were rusting and the tepid water that ran from the shower heads smelled distinctly musty and earthy, the way only stale water could. The smell lingered in her hair and on her clothing, until eventually she began accustomed to the stink. However, she would never become used to the occasional cockroaches that scurried across the shower floors. Patients were not given any shoes besides the worn out old sneakers they wore every day, so she tiptoed everywhere to lessen the chance of contracting any fungus or stray parasite from the floor.

Worst of all, though, wasn't the smell or the bugs; it was the lack of privacy. The sides of the shower stalls were five feet tall and covered with opaque dirty yellow linoleum-squares, but there were no shower curtains or coverings of any kind at the entrance. Elena always chose the stall at the very end of the room where it was unlikely for anyone to walk by, but there was still the random female perv who came by for the free show.

"Buzz off," she told Gwyneth from Ward B, the creep, sending her scampering away to find another patient to spy on. Finished undressing, she began to tug at the shower handle. Turned to the hottest setting, the water _still_ came out cold. She shivered as she stepped into the harsh, cold spray of the shower-head and began to wash herself with the bar of soap the hospital provided. It was some cheap drugstore brand and left her squeaky clean, and covered in soap residue. The bar of soap was the only thing the hospital provided too- how the hell was she supposed to wash her hair with a bar of soap?

She wondered if Crane would get her a bottle of shampoo if she asked- maybe conditioner if she was really lucky. She doubted it though; the best she could hope from him was not killing her at this point. But still, the thought of Crane in some supermarket somewhere in his little navy suit, trying to puzzle out the difference between voluminous and texturizing shampoo was amusing. He did seem to know his way around hair gel though, that's what seemed to be in his hair every time they met… and it worked for him.

_Oh my god, what am I doing? _Thinking about Crane's hair while in the shower? Not acceptable. _There must be something in the water, _she reasoned.

"Meretti! We need to talk," she heard Ivy say.

"It's _Mor_etti," she murmured annoyed, before she turned around and was temporarily blinded by the image of a naked Ivy. "_Ohmigod_," she gasped, and turned away. "Ivy! There are these things called towels-"

"I heard from Jason that Dr. Crane gave a lecture yesterday about the importance of preventing the use of contraband items. As an example, he showed a _lighter _that a patient got ahold of. That wouldn't be _our _lighter, now would it?"

"I'm sorry, I can't- could you please cover yourself?"

"Not until you answer my question," she said menacingly, taking a step forward with her hands on her hips. Her skin seemed to be tinted green under the florescent lights of Arkham, but Elena was too busy averting her eyes to notice.

"Seriously, this is assault-"

"Elena!"

"Yes! Okay, that was my lighter! Crane just lifted it off me, there was nothing I could do!"

"So, what, he gives strip searches before his appointments with patients now?"

_Oh god, how am I going to explain _that? she wondered, remembering how he had lifted the lighter from her shirt pocket while her eyes were closed, light fingers tugging at her clothing. She flushed, remembering how close he had been to her, and the way he had oddly smelled of evergreen in a place devoid of forests. Her face grew hot just thinking about it. _You are such a hormonal idiot, _she told herself. Elena edged around Ivy, all the while staring fixedly at a distant egg-shaped water stain on the ceiling, and snatched her towel off the hook outside the stall. "The only one stripping right now is you."

"Remind me again what you have contributed to this?" Ivy asked. "I've wrapped Jason around my finger, and he would do anything for me now, including let us out of our cells."

"I am the mastermind of this escape team, remember?" Elena answered as she tied the towel around herself, her eyes never straying from the water stain. "Anyways, we didn't even need the lighter, setting a fire and everything would be too risky. Besides, I have a much better idea. It involves much less loss of plant life." Harley had told her about Ivy's eco-terrorist aspirations.

"Mm hmm," Ivy said skeptically, crossing her arms across her chest and looking at Elena with suspicion. "What is this idea?"

"Oh, I can't tell you yet," Elena bluffed, "Gotta make sure it will pan out. But don't worry, I'm 99.9% sure it will."

Ivy sensed she was bullshitting. "Figure it out, Meretti, or Harley and I are out," she threatened. She made to leave, but turned around to utter one last insult, as if pronouncing her last name wrong wasn't enough. "By the way, nice stretch marks," she sneered.

"Time for Group!" shouted a guard a moment, sticking her head through the shower room door. "Get dressed ladies!"

_Bitch, _she thought savagely as she pulled on her uniform grey dress. She wished there were some other psychotic maniacs in her ward that could help her pull the escape plan off, but Ivy and Harley were what she had to work with. Harley would have been manageable if not for her utter loyalty and devotion to the Joker, and Ivy, well, hated anything that didn't photosynthesize. Elena watched Ivy curiously as she flirted with Correctional Officer Jason as she dressed, and couldn't believe that she was the same woman that had just threatened and insulted her. She seemed to radiate beauty. Not only did her hair fall in natural curls along her back, but it was the vibrant red-orange color of a ripe nectarine. And as often as they did flash with anger, her leafy green eyes were certainly something. Jason didn't stand a chance against her.

"Hey," said Harley, nudging her with her elbow as they lined up and were marched off to Group Therapy. "Don't mind her, she gets real touchy when she's away from her plants. It's been rough on her, being here." It seemed Harley had forgiven Ivy for her earlier outburst. Well, Elena hadn't. She nodded in what she hoped was a semi-sympathetic way, but didn't speak. Harley babbled on happily about her dinner plans with the Joker once they got out, etc. etc. until they reached the Group Therapy room.

"Ick," Harley whispered in her ear as they walked inside, "It's Doc Kellerman."

An old, balding man in his mid-50s was sitting in a metal, folding chair at the back of the room, and had arranged a dozen or so chairs in a semicircle in front of him. He did not look as officious as Crane had, opting for an off-white lab coat over a blue shirt and suspenders, but still gave the impression that he was well off. "Have a seat," he said, his eyes not leaving the clipboard he held in his hands.

Looking around, Elena saw about half of the seats were already occupied by patients from another ward. It took another glance to realize there was only one chair left, at the end of the semicircle next to the orange haired man she had seen her first day at Arkham. He was the one that had called her "Alice." Warily, she sat down next to the man and was disturbed when she realized his wild brown eyes were locked on her face. _Why the hell is he wearing a hat? _she wondered. The dress code at Arkham was pretty strict: wear what is given to you and nothing else. However, this man was wearing a tattered, dumpster green top hat that barely concealed his crazy orange hair that stuck out in random places, giving him the look of a mad scientist. He grinned at her, revealing yellowing, buck toothed teeth that would make a rabbit jealous.

"Hello everyone, my name is Doctor Kellerman and I will be leading Group Therapy this morning. Today we will be discussing parental figures- how have they influenced who you are today?" He spoke in a continuous monotone, and sounded as though he were reading a textbook on psychiatry verbatim. She caught Harley's eye, and stuck out her tongue and rolled her eyes, as though Kellerman had killed her from boredom.

Harley snickered and mock hanged herself from across the room, but Kellerman's voice did not waver. "-and play an essential part in a child's development. Studies have shown that children under the age of nine who have not received proper-" Elena ceased paying attention and attempted to block out his toneless voice.

"Yes, yes! 'One, two, one, two, through and through. And then the rope went snicker-snack. He left it dead and with its head, he went galumping back!'" said the man beside her animatedly.

_The fuck? _she thought, eyeing him cautiously after he had finished spouting nonsense. _Is it too late to change seats?_

"Ivy," Doctor Kellerman droned, "Would you care to be the first to share?"

Ivy looked at him sullenly. Kellerman's owlish brown eyes faltered beneath her withering stare, and moved on to the next patient on the list. "Magpie?" he continued, peering around the room through his thick lensed glasses.

"Alice, I knew you would return to me, I simply knew," he said earnestly, turning towards her, still wearing his ridiculous hat.

"I'm sorry, I think you've mistaken me for someone else." She edged her chair away from him, uncomfortable with how close he was to her. "My name is Elena."

"Oh Alice, must you remain so coy? Both of us know who you truly are."

"My name is Elena, for the twentieth time." Honestly, it was like reasoning with a wooden bed post. An insane, hat wearing, wooden bed post.

"Alice, perhaps you will let me show you Wonderland sometime. This wonderful, wonderful Wonderland."

"I have no desire to see your Wonderland." He really could _not _take a hint.

"Miss Moretti, have you anything to add?" asked Kellerman.

"Excuse me, Tweedledee is speaking," she said to the hat-wearing basket case, gesturing at the Doctor. "Yes Doctor Kellerman?" She smiled brightly, as though she were not currently locked in a room with a dozen different mental cases.

"Have you anything to add to our discussion of parental figures?"

"Nope."

"You grew up with your uncle, is that correct?" he said, squinting at the notes written on his clipboard. "A Mr. Carmine-"

"Watch it Doc," she said maliciously. The doctor paused, unsure how to proceed.

"'Scuse me Mister Kellerman?" asked a guard, peering in. "Dr. Crane wants a word with this one," he said, nodding at Elena.

A loud "ooooOOOOO!" came from Harley's side of the room as Elena got up to leave with the guard.

"Real mature," she murmured at her, but Harley wasn't wrong. She had wondered how long it would take Crane to find her little note to him. He hadn't shown up to their appointment the day before, Jason said he was out on "business," so her life had been prolonged a little. She knew when she was messing with Crane, she was playing with fire disguised as ice, but she needed to get under his skin if her plan to escape were to succeed.

* * *

She was led to the all too familiar office of Jonathan Crane and shoved inside, the door shut behind her. Crane was sitting at his desk, glasses on, hands folded severely in front of his face. Without waiting for an invitation, she sat in the chair in front of him and folded her hands in front of her face too. It was apparent he did not take kindly to being imitated, and immediately took his hands off the desk.

"Could you explain to me the meaning of this, Miss Moretti?" he inquired, pushing a ripped piece of paper towards her. Holding it up, she quickly read aloud,

_Jonathan Crane: The Doc appears very cranky today- looks like someone didn't get enough of their beauty sleep. Probably due to nightmares from all the souls he's crushed..._

_Occupation: Hypocritical, corrupt asshole_

_Allergies: Happiness, sunshine, a wide spectrum of human emotion_

_Hobbies include feeding patients to alligators, kicking puppies, and snacking on children while they dream. _

_Diagnosis: Is an egotistical misanthrope suffering from a __**severe **__superiority complex. Abuses his position as a doctor by using patients as his own personal lab rats, though he vowed to "do no harm." Demands respect when he has done nothing to earn it, and cares nothing for his patients. And appears to have an unhealthy obsession with sweater vests…_

_Treatment: Observer suggests he see a psychiatrist (and no, a mirror does _not_ count)_

_P.S. Your observations of me are frighteningly inaccurate. I do, in fact, possess above average intelligence. And yes, I may be irritating at times, but vexatious? A little harsh, don't you think? Have fun figuring out how I got in your desk._

_Love,_

_Your favorite patient_

She clutched the piece of paper to her heart. "Aww, you read "favorite patient" and automatically thought of me?"

"It was more due to the fact that you quoted lines from my _accurate _observations of yourself," he said icily, making sure to emphasize the word "accurate."

"So what's the problem, Doc? You ripped my entry out of your creepy stalker journal, no harm done. Unless," she said, with a mischievous glint in her eye, "You haven't figured out how I got into your desk yet? Is it possible? A puzzle the brilliant minded Doctor Crane can't figure out?"

"Of course I know!" he snapped. "You aren't half as clever as you believe yourself to be."

"Really?" she said, bemused. "Then how'd I do it?"

_She's toying with you, _hissed Scarecrow impatiently. _And what's worse, you're _letting _her toy with you. Man up._

"You had security officer Jason open it for you. Don't worry, the matter will be resolved shortly. I will relieve him of his position when this appointment is over," he said. It wasn't hard to figure out a young, beautiful girl like Elena; they flirted and charmed their way through life, much as she was attempting to do now.

She snorted. "Guess again, Doctor."

"I don't _guess _Miss Moretti; I observe, hypothesize and deduce."

"Seriously no. Don't fire Jason, he had nothing to do with it." Ivy would kill her if she found out Elena was the reason Jason, their key out of their cells, was fired.

"Is this love, Miss Moretti? Have you developed feelings for this halfwit you have manipulated into helping you, who cannot pass a simple police examination?"

She frowned at the word "halfwit." Sure, Jason wasn't the brightest crayon in the coloring box, but he tried his best. "No," she said slowly. "Unlike you, my life does not revolve around the constant manipulation of people. Jason had _nothing _to do with it."

"I don't honestly expect me to believe you, do you?" He smirked. "You may leave, and send C.O. Jason in on your way out." He had ignored her and dismissed her, and Scarecrow muttered his approval.

She stood up reluctantly, a mutinous look in her eyes. Jonathan bend back over his lab notebook, scribbling complex chemistry formulas and attempting to perfect his Fear Toxin, when he felt his rolling chair pushed aside. "Move," she said imperiously, and dumped the contents of his paper clip jar onto his desk. Grabbing a pair of silver paperclips, she bent down and began to fiddle with the lock of his desk. Stunned by her audacity, he sat there for a moment, unsure of what to do. She tossed her long, blonde hair over her shoulder, and continued intently picking the lock. However, he wasn't looking at the drawer, but at her delicate fingers, flexing and un-flexing. Her left arm was dotted with the black stitches he had sewn into her skin that night after Scarecrow had shown her Killer Croc, and he could see thin red lines snaking their way up her arm, towards her heart.

_Are you just going to let her get away with that? _chided Scarecrow.

_Quiet, _he responded. _I want to see..._

"Well, would ya look at that," she said triumphantly, standing up and yanking the drawer open, which had moments before been locked. She pulled his journal out of the desk and tossed it at him. He caught it, while still staring at her arm.

She was walking towards the door and about to leave when he ordered her in a low voice to, "Sit."

Elena huffed, but did as she was told and sat back down in front of his desk. "Tell me, Miss Moretti," he demanded in a dangerously low tone, "Have you been taking your medications."

"'Course Doc," she replied nonchalantly.

"Really," he answered, eyebrows raised. "Place your arms on the desk, forearms up."

"Why?" she challenged. His blue eyes gave her a biting glare.

She put her left arm on the desk.

"I believe I said both arms."

She glared at him, and for a moment there was a silent struggle for dominance. Finally, she placed her other arm on the table as well, fist clenched, with a look on her face that told him she would like nothing better than to punch him. He first studied her left arm, and the red, vein-like lines that traveled up her shoulder confirmed his suspicions. "You have an infection from your scratches," he commented, "Which would have been avoided had you only taken your medicine."

"I'm not taking that crap you prescribe, especially when I don't need it."

"So you are saying you don't have an infection?"

"I'm saying I don't have schizophrenia, or whatever the hell you said I had at my trial, so I won't take any of that mind fogging crap."

Crane was well-versed in psycho-pharmacology, and the complaint that the drugs dulled the senses was nothing new to him. He wondered why he was surprised that Moretti had not taken her medication, he should have expected nothing less from the girl.

"You can either take your medication, or let the infection go untreated. If you chose the latter, your arm will swell painfully, and you will experience fatigue, loss of appetite, fevers, night chills, along with other various aches and pains. Eventually, the infection will spread to your blood stream, and then it is only a matter of time before your death. Or, you could take these pills," he said, holding out two white capsules in his hand. He watched her chew on her bottom lip, her eyebrows knit in thought. "You don't have a choice," he said unsympathetically. She stopped chewing on her lip, and snatched the pills from his hand. His hand burned from where her fingertips had brushed his skin, and his eyes were fixed on her bottom lip, swollen and red from its earlier treatment. He wondered what it would feel like, to brush his lips against hers.

She dry swallowed her pills and glared at him. "Satisfied?" she asked.

_You have nooo idea, _jeered Scarecrow.

"And your other arm," he said, glancing to the right. She tried to jerk her arm away, but he caught her wrist in his hand and held tightly. "What have we here?" he asked.

"A tattoo," she answered shortly, but it was anything but. Jonathan was very well aware of the practice some degenerates chose to partake in, where they would inject ink into their skin. An idiotic practice, in his opinion, and just another way one could contract HIV. However, the sign on her wrist was not black, or any other color for that matter. This particular patch of skin was faintly red, resembling scar tissue, and looked distinctly like a falcon perched upon a tree branch- a gang symbol, no doubt. It seemed to be some sort of burn, as if someone had taken a cattle brand to her skin. Not only more idiotic that a tattoo but queerly sickening.

"What possessed you to brand yourself?"

She smiled bitterly, her fascinatingly grey eyes tempestuous. "Tattoos are removable," she said quietly, without any elaboration. He had a feeling that those were not her words that she spoke.

"Anyways Doc, I need you to get something for me." He could tell she was purposefully changing the subject, but he let her. He would find out soon enough what she was hiding.

"What, Miss Moretti?"

"Shampoo. Oh, and conditioner, and nail polish remover too. I'm sure you haven't noticed, but Arkham doesn't exactly provide the best hair care products."

"What, no demands for weapons, or lighters for that matter?"

"I see no point," she replied, surprisingly reasonable. "I know you won't get them for me."

_When has that ever stopped you? _he remarked silently. She was up to something, he was sure, but he didn't know what yet.

"I will think about it."

_Might as well get her some lingerie while you're at it, Johnny boy-toy._

_Hush, Scarecrow, we need to find out what she is up to._

_What we need_, Scarecrow hissed irritably, _is a perfected form of the Fear Toxin. Forget the girl._

Jonathan ignored him.

"I think you should get some for the crazy hat guy as well, his hair kind of reeks," she suggested.

"You've met Mr. Jervis Tetch," he said, ignoring Scarecrow's inappropriate comments on Moretti's appearance. "Or, as most know him, the Mad Hatter."

"What did he do?" Her wide grey eyes stared at him expectantly, and he noticed she was biting her lip again.

"Mr. Tetch is here because he was found by a judge to be not guilty due to mental illness or defect. In his case, he believes he is the incarnation of the Mad Hatter from Lewis Carroll's _Alice in Wonderland._"

"Yes, but what did he _do_?"

"He was charged with the kidnapping, rapes, and murders of 8 schoolgirls, committed over a period of three years." A look of absolute revulsion crossed her face. "Each of them was blonde haired and blue eyed, and he believed them to be a reincarnation of 'Alice.' When the girls did not admit to being Alice, he murdered them to prevent them from shattering his delusion; his goal in life being to find his one true 'Alice' to complete his fantasy. Even on medication though, he refuses to make any progress, because his delusion buries any guilt he may feel for committing those crimes."

"How come he wasn't put on death row? What he did is _disgusting_."

"He is schizophrenic. Can you hold him criminally responsible when he lacked the mental capacity to appreciate what he did was wrong?"

"Sounds like a load of BS. He isn't some five year old who accidentally set fire to his grandmother's house, he's a middle aged man that likes to prey on young girls."

"Then what would you call a man that pretends he is a storybook character?"

"A pedophile," she said simply.

"New evidence has come to light that indicates Mr. Tetch may have himself been abused as a child. Do you feel no sympathy for him?"

"Being abused as a child doesn't give you the right to become an abuser yourself."

"Really?" he asked, a hardened expression on his face. "None at all?"

"None." The room was silent for a long while, both of them mulling over what the other had said.

"You may go," he said suddenly. He would pay no attention to what she had just said. Morals and ethics- those were for richer men.

"You'll have to let go of my wrist," she said softly, and he realized he was still gripping her hand. He let go of her hand as if he had been burned, and began to scribble away again in his notebook as to avoid looking at her. He heard her chair scrape across the floor as she stood up, and he felt her pause for a moment and stare at him with her perceptive grey eyes before heading towards the door.

_Holding hands- you're almost at first base! _Scarecrow whispered, snickering

* * *

Elena stomped back to her cell having already missed all of Group, her heart racing furiously. Jervis Tetch, that was the creep's name. Jervis Tetch who murdered little blonde girls. Jervis Tetch who called her Alice. She didn't care if he was really ill, or faking his illness to shirk prison time, all she knew was that a man like that didn't deserve to be breathing while all those girls were cold and dead. It frightened her to know sickos like that existed. And he had gotten away with it for three years, that's what Crane had told her. Jonathan Crane, who had stared at her with his unsettling blue eyes the entire time they had been talking. She knew he had just been observing her, like she was his personal lab rat or some shit, but a little part of her thought that maybe, just maybe, he was capable of feeling some sort of human emotion. _And what, he feels something for you? _the rational part of her brain sneered. _That man is made of ice, he doesn't feel anything for anyone. As soon he gets what he wants from you, he'll hand you right back to Falcone. _But what _did _Crane want from her? Information? Amusement? Something more? He had given her antibiotics... _They could be poison for all you know. _He had fired Red... _Because you tricked him into it. _She pushed these confusing thoughts from her mind; she needed to focus on escaping, that was her priority. Crane was a coldhearted scientist, who would never care about anything besides his experiments.

That night she dreamed about the day she had gotten the falcon marking on her wrist.

_All of Falcone's children had it, why should she be any different? She had seen the black tattoo on Sofia's wrist, and had cried nonstop when they said she had to get one too. They had to drag her ten-year-old self down to the basement, and even then she had put up quite a fuss. She had only stopped crying when Falcone came home- he hated tears. "Why do you not want the mark, little dove?" he had asked. "Are you ashamed of _mia famiglia_?" She shook her head, unable to speak because she was so terrified. "Do you know what this mark means, Elena? It means no matter how far you run, where you hide, your family will always find you." The words were not meant to comfort her. "I will give you the mark myself." Alberto had handed his father the tattoo machine, but her uncle had waved it away. "**Tattoos are removable.** Let's give her something she can't remove, eh?" They held her down, and all she could do was watch as he heated the wire hanger in the furnace until it was glowing red hot. Her nose filled with the smell of burning flesh. When it was over, she was left with scarred flesh on her wrist, in the shape of a falcon._

She woke up, a scream caught in her throat, before she realized where she was. Arkham Asylum. She was safe, for now at least. Her bare feet hit the cold cement floor as she padded her way to the sink, and splashed cold water on her face. Staring in the mirror, a spot of color at the entrance of her cell caught her attention. Turning around, she saw bright pink bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and nail polish remover sitting on the floor of her cell.

She couldn't help smiling.

* * *

_Whoot! Another long (ish) chapter. For all of you who know Crane's back story, you know why he was so ticked by Elena's answer ;O Don't worry, both of their histories will be revealed in later chapters. Thank you to ShyxSkater, Megushie, Shannon, Taylor Snape13, and takara410 for reviewing, and everyone else for fav/following! And vote on the poll on my profile, por favor? I apologize in advance for the predicted lack of updates. I will be at summer camp next week, so there won't be any new chapters for a while, but don't give up on this story! Just continue reviewing, etc. and nagging me until I update._


	13. Chapter 13

_Twelve years earlier:_

_"Can I play?" the seven-year-old girl asked, her blonde curls bouncing up and down excitedly as she skipped towards where the other children were playing, her wrist still un-branded and scar-free. Her babysitter Lana had told her she was not allowed to leave the house without her, but she had grown tired of watching Sofia and Alberto play War from her window. Alberto was pretending to be the police, while Sofia was the mob- or to put it more accurately, the Romans. _

_"Ow!" Alberto was shouting, "You threw a rock at me, Sofia!"_

_"Wimp," her cousin sneered back, and chucked another rock at him, hitting him squarely in the head._

_"Can I play, please?" Elena repeated, clasping her hands behind her back and rolling back and forth on the balls of her feet anxiously. She was wearing a daisy headband and her best white dress, (the one her uncle had given her, he was so nice!) but didn't care if she got it dirty in the street. All she wanted was to play with her cousins. She'd even be willing to be a police officer on Alberto's team, if Sofia wanted her to._

_Alberto looked at her curiously, but Sofia looked at her with disdain. "Mommy says not to talk to you."_

_"Why?" Elena asked, taking a step backwards. This was not the reception she had been expecting. She had moved in a week ago from the group foster home, and though she didn't share a room with Sofia, they lived in the same house. They even went to the same school- Elliot Collegiate Academy. By all seven-year-old standards, they should be friends._

_"Cuz she said that even though your Mommy was my Daddy's brother, you aren't part of our family, because your Mommy was a slut that married a policeman."_

_"You're a liar!" she said hotly, her hands clenched in tiny fists at her side. Her Daddy was definitely _not _a policeman. She didn't really remember him or her mom that well- they had died a while ago- but she would have remembered _that. _Elena didn't know which was worse: Sofia calling her mom a slut, or her dad a policeman. _

_"She was a snitch, so that makes you one too!" Sofia taunted._

_That was too much for Elena, so she punched Sofia in her fat mouth, her knuckles colliding with her front teeth. And Sofia, never one to back down from a fight, prepared to retaliate when a grownup stepped between them._

_"You little monster!" Louisa Falcone squawked, shoving Elena away from her precious Sofia. "Are you alright Fia, darling?" Her cousin shook her head "no" with false tears forming in her eyes and enraged, Louisa turned on Elena. "I have no idea what possessed my husband to bring you home, but if you hurt one of my children again, you will be very sorry. You are no niece of mine." Sofia grinned maliciously from behind her mother, and moments later Elena was left standing alone in the middle of the street. The silence was eerie and unsettling, even if they were in Uptown Gotham- a relatively safe neighborhood. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly and tried to remember her father._

_ Her memory was fuzzy and blurry, like opening your eyes underwater and trying to see. She vaguely remembered the smell of black coffee and stripped red ties hanging off of doorknobs in their old brick house. Concentrating fiercely, she tried to recall her father's face. She struggled to look up at him, but he was too tall. Then something that glinted gold caught her eye. With horror, she remembered the shiny gold badge he always carried with his that hung from a chain around his neck. She felt him pat her head softly and then muss up her hair, but her eyes were focused on that badge, swinging side to side like a pendulum. Squinting her eyes, she struggled to make out the word: _GCPD.

"Well, Miss Moretti?" Crane asked impatiently, his eyes glinting with masked annoyance, and snapped her out of her daydream.

"What was the question?" she asked, trying to push her memories of her life with the Falcone's from her mind. Her daily sessions with Crane in the past week had not improved- each of them a battle to see who would end up the most irritated. She'd like to think she won most of the time.

"I asked," he replied, half rolling his eyes behind his glasses, "What do you remember of your birth parents?" That was not the question he really wanted to know the answer to, though. _What do you fear, Miss Moretti? _That is what he wanted to ask, but he knew it would most probably elicit some sarcastic response from her, rather than the truth. His hands itched to use the needle filled with toxin in his coat pocket.

"See, there we go with the personal questions Doc. Mariah Carey might ask you why you're so obsessed with me." He gave her a nonplussed stare. "It's a pop culture reference, forgive me, I forgot you go home every day to live in your little hermit cave."

"If this arrangement is no longer quite to your satisfaction, I would be more than happy to contact Mr. Falcone and alert him."

Elena sincerely hoped he was bluffing. She had been stalling telling him anything of real importance, painfully aware of the fact that he could hand her back to Falcone at any moment. But strangely, he never did. Perhaps he believed that only the mind could grant you power in Arkham, and consequently was avoiding using brute force to force her to cooperate. It seemed like something he would do. Little did she know that he wanted to know more about _her_, not Falcone.

"Oh please, we both know you would miss me too much," she said sarcastically, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she did. Jonathan was hit by the overwhelming smell of vanilla, with a hint of jasmine. _It must be that damned shampoo she made me get, _he observed. Well actually, she had never specified what type of hair care products she wanted, so he had chosen the one he thought had smelled best. But why did he care what she smelled like?

Thank God he had banished Scarecrow temporarily from his mind earlier that day in order to have some privacy with his patient otherwise he would have never heard the end of it.

"That is doubtful," he informed her, seemingly unperturbed.

"Fine," she said, straightening up. "I'll tell you about my parents… when you tell me about yours."

His expression did not change, but she saw him clench his jaw and sensed his mood was souring beyond its usual I-hate-the-world-ness.

"I'm afraid there would be very little to tell," he drawled, doing his best to seem nonchalant about the subject. "But you, on the other hand, have quite the story. Your parents' names are Dante Moretti and Adelina Falcone, according to the Foster System's records, and you were taken into the home of Carmine and Luisa Falcone at the age of seven after they were murdered. A mob hit, the report says."

_What do you fear, Miss Moretti? _he thought again. _The memory of your parents' death? Abandonment?_

"Astounding detective work, Doctor Crane." She didn't even flinch at the mention of her parents' murders. "If you must know, my mother had the brilliant idea of marrying the policeman heading the investigation into her brother. She was going to testify in court against him, actually, but Falcone killed her and my dad both. I was put into foster care for a couple of months, then I went to live with him for eleven years. There. End of story." She had a grim smile on her face- her life story sounded like some bad joke.

"I am guessing your home life was not the best?" he asked, one eyebrow arched. He had perfected the art of looking disinterestedly interested.

"I thought you didn't guess, Crane," she shot back, quoting what he said in a previous interview. She went back to slouching in her chair, crossing and uncrossing her long, slim legs as she did. Crane's eyes were inexorably drawn to them for half a second before they darted back down to the manila file folder in front of him, heat rising in his stomach. He should not be feeling this- the last time he had, he ended up humiliated by his supposed "date" and her boyfriend. Blood surged in his head at that particular memory, and he recalled how he had sworn that day never to allow his judgment to be clouded by emotions again.

"It wasn't that bad at first," she continued. "I didn't find out he killed my parents for a long time. People never really bother to tell seven-year-olds much, you know?" This was the most forthcoming Elena had been about her past since she had arrived in Arkham. She had no idea why she was sharing this after all those years- and with Crane of all people. She was suddenly very aware of the intensity of his gaze, and began to feel self-conscious in her thin grey dress.

"And what exactly was the nature of your relationship with Mr. Falcone?" he probed, his questions laced with renewed hostility to mask the tumult of other emotions he was feeling. "Was he just your uncle, or did you feel you could manipulate the mob boss further by sleeping with hi- "

There was a loud, harsh groan from the chair scraping across the floor as Elena jumped out of her seat and slammed her hands down on Crane's desk, causing the sole lamp on his desk to fall on the floor and the bulb to shatter. "Don't you… You don't know…" she growled through clenched teeth, her voice quivering in rage.

Jonathan could see how badly she did _not _want to talk about Falcone, so he pressed the subject. "I don't what?" he mocked, standing up as well, amused by her violent response. "Are you admitting that you and Mr. Falcone _were _involved?"

"No!" she snarled, her hands clenched in tight fists at her sides.

"No it did not happen, or no you are not admitting... ?"

"Shut up!" Elena shouted. "You- you are unbelievable." She turned around, visibly shaking, and walked towards the exit.

"We are not finished here, Miss Moretti," he droned in an icy voice.

"Yeah we are," she challenged, turning around to face him. "What about your home life, huh? Who turned you into such a psychopath?!"

"Don't change the subject," he replied lazily, walking out from behind his desk towards her. "Why did you do it? No, don't tell me, you surely weren't in love with him, now were you?"

"I hate him more than _anyone_," she hissed, jabbing her index finger at him. They were now only a foot apart.

"But he appears utterly _obsessed _with you," he replied, eyes glittering. "I was speaking to him just last week-"

"You spoke to him?" she interrupted. He should back away- he was entirely too close to her, but her grey eyes flashed with something akin to fear, which captivated him.

"Yes," he answered quietly. "I have convinced him, for the time being, it would be _unwise _to visit with all the attention he has gained from the DA's office following the institutionalization of his employee Mr. Victor Zsasz. However, I may find it difficult to continue to do so if I am not given the answers I require..."

She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and bit it (an indicator of an anxiety disorder, Crane noted), pulling her eyes away from him to stare at some fixed point over his left shoulder. He wanted to grab her chin and force her to look at him, to feel her grey eyes on him once again. But instead he remained still and waited for her response. Finally, she defeatedly answered, "What do you want to know?"

_What do I want to know? _The answer was already on the tip of his tongue.

"What do you fear, Miss Moretti?" He took a step forward, closing the gap between them (in order to better gauge her response, of course). It didn't hurt that his body was only a few inches away from hers.

"What?" she asked, shaking her head slightly. That was not the question she had been expecting.

"What. Do. You. _Fear_?" he repeated, his voice dropping to a heavy whisper.

"Oh, that's easy. Any sort of human connection of course- oh wait, that's you! My bad!" She clutched a hand to her heart in feigned mistake.

"You are in no position to play games."

"I'd say," she replied in a husky voice, moving so close to him that her chest brushed against him, "That I'm in a very good position, wouldn't you?"

"Are you trying to seduce me, Miss Moretti?" His face remained impassive and indifferent.

"Now why would I want to seduce an ice sculpture?" she said bemused, her hand brushing against his buried in his jacket pocket. Then abruptly, her voice changed to a much sharper tone and the smile fell from her face. "You're going to have to use that toxin you have in your pocket there, because you'll never get the answer out of me any other way. Do it or don't do it Crane, I don't have a say in the matter, but I won't tiptoe around you or be cowed by you, I've done enough of that in my life," she said bluntly.

He had been unaware that he had been clutching the syringe filled with his toxin in his pocket until now (he had been a little distracted), but now he pulled it from his coat and held it up to the light. It glowed a beautiful soft green, the product of four years of hard work at the University and Arkham. He flicked the bottom of the needle and squirted a few drops out to ensure no air bubbles were trapped inside before turning back towards her. "A few milligrams of this, and you would be reduced to a shrieking, incoherent mess. No test subject has ever regained their sanity after having this in their system for longer than a few hours. Are you afraid, Miss Moretti?"

"I've got nothing to fear but fear itself, huh Doctor?" she said in a resigned voice, unfathomable sadness in her somber eyes.

That quote made him pause. They were the words that he had repeated over and over again as a child, the very words he lived by. Finding out what others feared was more than a hobby, it was his obsession. It came to a point when he could not meet someone and _not _wonder what their darkest fears were. But he didn't want to know just that from Elena- he wanted to know everything and anything about her. Infuriating as she was, she was a challenge to him amongst the uninteresting and boring patients and doctors of Arkham. And poisoning her, as satisfying as it would feel, would destroy her mind and prevent her from ever conversing with him again. He knew what Scarecrow's opinion on the matter would be, but what did he want?

"Leave," he said coldly, turning his back on her and pocketing the syringe. "And send Mr. Nigma in on your way out."

_Author's Note:_

_Sorry if the plot was a bit confusing this chapter! The flashback occurs when she is seven, before the one in the previous chapter when she gets her scar. When Elena talks about "The Romans" she means Falcone's mob- that was the name he gave his gang, and Falcone was sometimes known as "The Roman." In this chapter you met two of his children- Alberto and Sofia. They are Elena's cousins, since her mother Adelina was Falcone's sister. Luisa Falcone is his wife, and the mother of Alberto and Sofia. Woot. Hope that clears everything up a little. More to be revealed later (so much back story to cover, arghhh, and I want to do them well!). If you have any questions or feedback for me, don't hesitate to review or PM me, I love talking to my follower! :D Love you all! I will update soon now that camp's over, pwomise. And brownie points to anyone that got Elena's pop culture reference._


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